8ERTRAND    SMITH'S 
"ACRES  OF  BOOKS" 

«33    MAIN  ST. 
CINCINNATI,     -  -    OHIO 


THE  HOUSE  ON 
CHARLES  STREET 


THE  HOUSE 

ON 

CHARLES  STREET 


NEW  YORK 

DUFFIELD  &  COMPANY 
1921 


Copyright,  1921,  by 
DUFFIELD   &   COMPANY 


Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


SRLF 
URL 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  I 

PAOE 

THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING          ..     .     ,       1 

BOOK  II 
NEW  TRAILS .     41 

BOOK  III 
ADVENTURE 91 

BOOK  IV 
THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END     .  215 


BOOK  I 
THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING 


CHAPTER  I 

MOST  of  us  who  had  read  our  lives  by  the  dying 
sunset  of  the  nineteenth  century,  probably  accepted 
the  generalizations  that  after  evolution  comes  dis- 
solution, and  after  intellectual  advance  there  is  bound 
to  be  emotional  reaction.  But  none  of  us  expected 
to  witness  this  dissolution,  or  to  experience  this  re- 
action. Crises  have  a  way  of  diffusing  themselves 
so  that  they  are  only  recognized  after  they  arc 
passed ;  and  few  societies  in  the  world's  history  have 
had  self-consciousness  enough  to  realize  the  signi- 
ficance of  what  befell  them.  Once  or  twice,  how- 
ever, in  human  affairs,  it  has  been  otherwise:  and 
mankind  has  undergone  an  unforgettable  crisis  in 
beholding — with  complete  realization  of  what  it 
means — the  portentous  operation  of  Natural  Law. 
In  this  vast  convulsion  all  human  atoms  are  affected, 
many  are  engulfed,  many  shaken  from  the  place 
where  they  had  clung  like  limpets  to  the  rock,  to  be 
whirled  about,  hither  and  yon  by  the  upheaval,  never 
knowing  when  or  where  they  shall  be  stayed. 

Sometimes  the  expected  happens.  In  this  beauti- 
ful high  valley  there  was  only  one  sign  of  it,  only 
one  visible  token  that  this  day  was  not  as  other  days. 
It  was  a  Sunday  afternoon  in  midsummer,  clear  and 
hot.  After  weeks  of  icy  showers,  the  weather  had 
settled  and  only  a  few  wisps  of  vapour  clung  to  the 
heights,  above  which  there  hung  the  dazzling  white- 
ness, the  immutable  frozen  cloud  of  Mont  Blanc. 
The  blue  of  the  sky  above  that  again  was  the  blue 
of  the  high  Alpine  passes.  There  was  no  wind.  A 
regiment  of  pines  stood  motionless,  in  rows,  and 
seemed  to  look  over  each  others'  shoulders  down 


4         THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

into  the  valley  beneath,  where  two  broad  highroads 
run,  a  strip  of  meadow-land  between,  lying  like  a 
green  carpet  on  each  edge  of  the  stream.  The  moun- 
tain wall  on  either  hand  takes  its  magnificence  from 
abruptness;  it  rises  at  a  definite  angle  like  the  wall 
of  a  house.  Overhead  hang  the  great  glaciers — im- 
minent and  terrifying,  cataracts  suspended  at  a  fro- 
zen breath,  grey  curtains  of  ice.  When  the  valley 
was  full  of  cheerful  noises,  feet  clattering,  cow- 
bells jangling,  life  moving  on  full  current,  busy  and 
gay,  one  hardly  noticed  them;  to-day  they  brooded 
like  a  curse  over  the  valley,  sinister  presences,  which 
repeated  exorcism  with  bell,  book,  and  candle,  had 
not  dispelled. 

There  was  one  token  that  this  day  was  not  as 
other  days,  and  that  was  its  complete,  strange  silence. 
Had  it  been  England,  one  would  put  it  down  to  Sun- 
day— but  France  holds  the  Sabbath  as  a  day  of  pic- 
nics and  expeditions,  a  day  of  music  and  of  merry 
voices.  On  this  Sunday  the  highbroad  was  unmarked 
by  a  vehicle,  no  one  walked  in  the  fields,  or  climbed 
upon  the  cliffs,  or  stood  knitting  at  the  cottage  door- 
ways. The  voice  of  the  Arveyron,  swollen  by  re- 
cent rains,  roared  along  its  bed.  Even  the  cattle 
on  the  high  pastures  remained  silent,  not  even  shaking 
their  great  bells. 

On  that  stretch  of  which  runs  from  Argentines 
to  Chamonix,  two  moving  dots  made  their  appear- 
ance,  raising,  as  they  advanced,  a  little  cloud  of 
white  dust  to  hang  in  the  motionless  air.  As  they 
drew  slowly  nearer — the  only  living  things  in  that 
apparently  empty  landscape — they  were  seen  to  be 
the  figures  of  two  young  women,  each  of  whom  car- 
ried a  suitcase,  overcoat,  and  umbrella,  while  in  ad- 
dition they  carried  a  third  bag  between  them. 
Burdened  thus  heavily,  their  progress  could  not  be 
rapid,  but  it  was  steady  and  determined  and  made 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  5 

evident  that  their  goal  was  the  railroad  station. 
The  stillness  everywhere,  with  all  its  sinister  quality, 
had  exerted  its  influence  upon  them,  and  they  spoke 
rarely  together.  Words  seemed  for  the  moment  to 
be  quite  useless;  and  all  that  torrent  of  anxiety, 
fear,  and  conjecture  which  had  possessed  them  dur- 
ing the  past  few  days,  had  ceased  to  flow.  One  of 
them,  if  she  had  felt  like  talking  at  all,  would  have 
simply  given  vent  to  the  reiterated  amazement,  and 
repeated  stupefied  questioning  of  a  person  quite  ig- 
norant of  the  causes  of  anything.  To  herself  she 
seemed  to  be  the  spectator  of  an  universal  madness, 
which  must  pass;  or  the  dreamer  of  a  dream 
too  hateful  and  too  vivid  to  last.  The  other  who 
was  the  more  sensitive  and  the  more  imaginative — 
was  sunk  in  a  different  kind  of  silence;  the  silence 
of  a  person  who  is  conscious  of  certain  stirrings  in 
her  own  soul — movements  which,  while  new,  are  yet 
very  old — cares  and  fears  dimly  held  and,  as  it  were, 
remembered.  These  had  as  yet  no  vocabulary,  but 
one  was  forming  fast,  the  faster  that  the  state  to  be 
expressed  was  not  a  novel  one — but  one  already 
familiar. 

They  had  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  little  town 
without  encountering  a  single  human  being.  Dur- 
ing all  that  walk  the  voice  of  the  Arveyron,  angry 
as  it  seemed  and  threatening,  had  been  the  only 
clear  sound.  Now  they  became  aware  of  another 
sound  that  mingled  with  it,  sometimes  afar  off  and 
stifled,  sometimes  nearer  as  if  just  around  the  corner, 
but  ever  the  same  thin,  desperate  sound,  that  of 
women  weeping.  By  a  common  impulse  the  two  set 
down  the  bag  they  carried,  and  turned  to  each  other. 

"Crying!"  saia  the  elder  in  a  subdued  voice,  "Cry- 
ing: all  of  them  I  It  is  true  then  .  .  .  and  last 
week  they  were  all  so  happy  I" 

The  two  girls  Elizabeth  and  Sydney,  whose  holi- 


6         THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

day  in  Savoy  had  been  so  strangely  cut  short, 
possessed  one  great  advantage  over  three  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  American  tourists  all  undergoing 
at  that  moment  similar  experiences.  They  were  far 
from  rich ;  the  trip  had  been  a  great  event,  carefully 
planned  for,"  and  it  had  involved  travelling  light. 
Therefore,  at  that  same  hour  when  the  three  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  were  frantically  packing 
their  trunks  or  filling  the  telegraph  offices  with  piles 
of  never-to-be-sent  messages,  these  two  were  already 
at  the  railway  station,  already  at  the  "guichet," — 
already  in  the  train.  Inexperience  also  having  made 
them  nervous,  the  first  rumour  of  the  money  panic  had 
sent  them  flying  to  the  bank.  "C'est  une  panique 
epouvantablef"  said  the  grey-haired  little  banker  at 
Chamonix ;  but  he  paid  the  modest  sum  they  asked  in 
good  silver  and  gold.  Poor,  anxious  Madame  Du- 
clos  of  the  pension  had  promised  to  forward  the  trunk 
to  Geneva  when  things  should  be  easier — they  had 
been  tres  sympathique ,  and  it  was  always  well  to 
oblige  Americans.  As  the  train  moved  away  down 
the  Valley,  leaving  the  pines,  the  great  glaciers,  the 
empty  roads,  and  the  noisy  Arveyron — her  face  rose 
up  before  one  of  the  two  girls,  that  fat,  silly  face,  all 
smeared  with  tears  and  marked  with  suffering.  "Oh, 
Mademoiselle  I"  she  had  wailed — "Et  mon  mart,  qui 
a  du  partir  ce  matin!"  and  again  the  younger  woman 
had  been  aware,  in  the  very  heart  of  all  this  stupefy- 
ing sorrow — that  it  was  not  new,  not  new,  even  to 
her. 

The  valley  wound  and  unwound  its  green,  sun- 
shiny stillness,  broadened  and  turned,  so  that  the 
two  were  able  to  look  back  for  one  long,  satisfying 
moment  on  the  vast  bulk  of  Mont  Blanc,  buttressed 
with  snow,  spanning  the  world,  looming  over  it  with 
an  aloof  magnificence  which  was  somehow  or  other, 
comforting.  One  of  our  travellers  at  least  felt  it 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  7 

so;  the  other  was  too  much  occupied  with  her  own 
perplexities,  beating  vainly  against  movements  which 
did  not  seem  to  have  taken  account  of  her  at  all! 

If  the  country  around  seemed  silent,  this  could 
no  longer  be  said  of  the  stations  or  of  the  train. 
It  became  very  crowded  with  an  animated  and  poly- 
glot crowd,  to  whose  voices  panic  had  lent  an  addi- 
tional shrillness.  Our  travelers  had  a  small  stock  of 
American-French,  but  not  enough  to  help  them  under- 
stand the  rumours  which  flew  about  those  crowds  or 
the  remarks  that  were  shouted  significantly  from  one 
to  another.  It  was  not  without  a  dim  apprehension, 
however,  that  they  noticed  the  bulk  of  the  travelers 
to  be  men,  grey-faced  for  the  most  part  and  not  at 
all  young;  while  the  women  with  children  clinging 
around  them  had  come  only  to  see  them  depart.  The 
two  American  girls  had  kept  up  between  them  a  cer- 
tain pretence  of  indifference  and  a  constant  repeti- 
tion of  the  idea  that  these  matters  did  not  affect 
their  affairs;  and  this  pretence  had  been  a  comfort 
and  a  stay  hitherto.  But  with  each  passing  station, 
with  each  larger  and  more  anxious  crowd,  each  suc- 
cessive group  of  weeping  women,  their  own  disquiet 
grew  and  grew.  As  the  train  neared  Geneva,  men 
in  uniform  began  to  dominate  the  crowd;  with  here 
and  there  groups  of  boys  gathered  together  in  atti- 
tudes of  utter  fear  and  misery  and  with  even  more 
sickening  evidences  of  a  sudden  and  overwhelming 
terror. 

On  the  frontier,  the  train  made  a  long  stop,  and 
all  the  travellers  crowded  to  the  windows.  Anne- 
masse  station  presented  a  spectacle  sufficiently  alarm- 
ing. Irritated  authorities,  both  French  and  Swiss, 
whose  nerves  had  been  stretched  to  breaking-point, 
strove  to  cope  with  clamouring  travellers  of  every 
nationality,  all  moved  by  one  herd  impulse  which 
stampeded  them  to  their  homes.  The  mobilization 


8         THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

of  the  Swiss  on  their  frontiers,  added  to  the  confu- 
sion every  available  man  who  might  have  been  other- 
wise called  upon  to  control  it.  Voices  of  newsboys 
brandishing  the  "Journal  de  Geneve" — only  four 
sinister  paragraphs  on  one  sheet — of  children  scream- 
ing— and  of  men  heatedly  disputing,  rose  from  the 
platform. 

A  heavy  train  rolled  into  position  and  stopped. 
Sydney  watching  from  the  window  noticed  that  it 
was  in  every  way  finer  than  the  one  she  was  in,  with 
carriages  well  upholstered,  and  a  dining-car  filled 
in  every  seat.  Along  the  tops  of  the  carriages  were 
the  names  of  German  cities.  A  large  fat  man  with 
a  napkin  tucked  under  his  chin,  leaned  out  of  the 
window  of  the  restaurant  car  and  looked  up  and 
down  the  platform.  At  the  sight  of  his  spectacles 
and  red,  pendulous  cheeks,  a  group  of  scarlet-trou- 
sered soldiers  nearby  made  a  rush  to  the  window 
with  a  snarling  cry  having  in  it  a  note  of  fury.  The 
German's  face  disappeared  as  by  magic;  an  official 
rushed  up  and  hustled  the  soldiers  away.  But  our 
travellers  looked  at  one  another  with  darkening 
eyes  and  a  touch  of  pallor.  It  was  their  first  glimpse 
of  the  passions  which  underlay  all  this  confusion, 
of  the  forces  which  were  to  move  life  to  new  ends, 
and  to  turn  the  countenance  of  the  world  into  the 
face  of  a  stranger.  They  returned  to  their  seats  in 
a  sort  of  stupor.  The  train  once  more  moved  on. 


CHAPTER  II 

M.  PAYOT,  the  kind  little  banker  at  Chamonix, 
had  given  good  advice  with  the  gold  pieces  he  had 
handed  over  three  days  before.  "De  I' or,  Made- 
moiselle," he  had  said  significantly,  "Poyez-vous, 
c'est  toujours  de  I'orf"  And  the  recipient,  although 
she  had  scoffed  at  the  time,  recalling  the  sacred  green 
paper  of  her  native  land,  had  cause  to  bless  M.  Payot. 
For  it  was  only  the  sight  of  those  gold  pieces,  pay- 
able in  advance,  which  procured  our  tired  travellers 
a  decent  lodging  that  night  in  Geneva.  They  had  al- 
ready chosen  their  pension — and  sent  a  telegram. 
It  would  undoubtedly  be  a  little  costlier  than  they 
had  expected  at  this  stage  in  the  trip,  but  then  Eliza- 
beth had  settled  the  whole  matter  with  the  shrewd 
good  sense  which  had  already  saved  them  more  than 
they  knew.  It  was  Elizabeth  who  had  insisted  on 
their  leaving  Argentieres  at  once  for  Geneva;  and 
now  it  was  Elizabeth  who  grasped  fully  that,  so  far 
as  pleasure  went,  the  trip  was  at  an  end. 

"Even  if  they  fix  it  up  between  them  now,"  she 
had  argued  with  a  knowledge  of  effects,  if  a  lament- 
able ignorance  of  causes,  "everything  and  everybody 
will  be  demoralized  for  months.  No,  my  dear, 
home  is  the  place  for  us,  whatever  happens.  The 
U.  S.  A.  is  good  enough  for  me — I've  had  enough 
of  foreign  travel!  We'll  just  go  home  as  quickly 
as  we  can  get  there." 

"Perhaps  that's  easier  said  than  done,"  replied 
her  companion,  with  a  doubt  born  of  a  more  far- 
reaching  imagination.  "Suppose  they  begin  to 
fight?" 

"Well,  suppose  they  do?"  Elizabeth  scornfully 

9 


retorted.  "There  is  always  at  least  a  month  al- 
lowed for  non-combatants  to  get  out  of  the  way, 
isn't  there?  And  nobody  fights  against  women  that 
I've  heard  of!" 

Poor  Elizabeth  I  There  came  a  time  when  she 
might  have  laughed  at  herself  for  thinking  that  the 
warring  countries  of  Europe  were  going  to  wait, 
like  armies  on  the  stage,  until  all  the  American  tour- 
ists had  collected  their  belongings,  paid  their  bills, 
and  betaken  themselves  comfortably  homeward.  But 
this  fiction  was  not  peculiar  to  Elizabeth  and  it 
saved  a  lot  of  panic. 

"Lucky  for  us  that  we've  got  our  passage  and 
paid  for  it,"  she  pursued.  "It's  the  getting  to  Eng- 
land that's  going  to  be  expensive.  It'll  be  worth 
everything  to  us  to  be  among  nice  people;  perhaps 
they'll  know  more  what  to  do." 

The  telegram — when  they  reached  the  pleasant 
little  hotel — had,  needless  to  say,  failed  to  arrive. 
Even  if  it  had,  the  proprietress  hastened  to  assure 
them  with  a  note  of  scorn  in  her  voice — ,  her  rooms 
were  already  filled.  But  Elizabeth  was  not  to  be 
balked;  she  was  pleasant;  she  was  firm;  she  was  not, 
apparently,  in  the  least  bit  of  a  panic;  and  she  laid 
the  gold  for  the  first  week  carelessly  on  the  table. 
Certainly,  she  was  not  in  the  same  category  as  those 
exhausted,  hysterical,  nasal-toned  persons  who  filled 
the  pension's  best  rooms  and  announced  themselves 
destitute.  So  the  proprietress  reflected  and  the  gold 
did  the  rest. 

"We're  awfully  lucky!"  declared  Elizabeth,  as 
she  surveyed  the  fourth  cab-full  of  disconsolate  trav- 
ellers drive  away  from  the  door.  "We  need  only 
stay  quietly  here  a  few  days  and  then  go  right  on, 
when  we're  rested!'  Thus  serene  in  their  appalling 
ignorance,  the  pair  dined  with  youthful  enjoyment, 
and  slept  well,  notwithstanding  the  glare  of  electric 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  u 

lights  which  beat  unmercifully  up  from  the  margin 
of  the  lake. 

Weeping  .  .  .  the  sound  of  women  weeping 
in  the  dawn  .  .  .  and  marching  feet,  ever  more 
marching  feet.  .  .  .  These  were  the  memories  of 
Geneva,  which  the  younger  girl  carried  thereafter 
in  her  heart.  The  skies  were  clear  and  steadily 
blue.  It  was  hot  and  people  streamed  restlessly  to 
and  fro — because  they  were  caught  and  couldn't  get 
away;  because  they  couldn't  get  home.  From  this 
restless  sea  waves  of  terror  rose  and  beat  and  beat. 
No  one  knew  what  was  happening;  no  one  knew  any- 
thing. First  telegrams  stopped  ajnd  then  trains 
ceased  to  run.  Were  the  Germans  bombarding 
Basle?  No,  it  was  the  French  who  were  crossing 
to  attack  Alsace.  Rumours  rose  and  ebbed;  no  one 
knew  whence  or  how. 

The'  English  fleet  had  attacked  Hamburg  and 
burned  it  ...  All  the  banks  in  America  had 
failed  in  one  tremendous  crash.  The  United  States 
Senate  had  passed  a  vote  of  sympathy  with  the  Ger- 
man Government.  This  was  a  strange  thing  to  hap- 
pen, but  with  so  many  stranger  things  happening  no 
one  thought  enough  to  deny  it.  ..  .  .  And  all 
the  while  no  money. 

The  bank  failure  story  really  worried  Elizabeth. 
She  had  gone  early  to  Cook's  on  Monday  morn- 
ing and  had  stood  in  line  behind  a  fussy  gentleman 
from  Milwaukee,  who  protested  at  receiving  nothing 
smaller  than  fifty  franc  notes.  Elizabeth's  consider- 
ate manner  and  quieter  voice  moved  the  unfortunate 
paying-teller  to  express  himself.  "Him  and  his 
small  change!"  he  cried,  "Why,  compared  to  what 
it  is  going  to  be — this  is  perfume!"  And  Elizabeth 
found  that  he  was  right.  The  next  day  and  many 
a  day  after  there  was  no  use  in  going  to  Cook's — 
or  to  any  other  bank.  Elizabeth  and  her  compan- 


12        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

ion  were  well  provided  for  the  present — but  suppose 
that  it  were  to  last — ?  With  a  curious  gregarious- 
ness,  which  grew  with  panic  and  perplexity,  the  two 
girls  joined  the  restless  crowds,  while  a  pause  of  in- 
action settled  upon  their  days.  In  the  morning  they 
paid  a  visit  to  the  bank  and  a  visit  to  the  consulate. 
Sometimes  a  stroll  followed  to  divert  their  minds 
in  the  older  quarter  of  the  town,  and,  as  the  heat  of 
day  declined,  that  endless  procession  of  nationalities 
across  the  Pont  des  Alpes  drew  them  irresistibly  to 
the  consideration  of  their  fellow-prisoners. 

On  a  certain  bench  in  the  shade,  not  far  from 
where  the  black  and  white  swans  gathered  to  be 
fed,  Elizabeth  and  Sydney  sat  day  after  day  as  at 
a  show.  It  was  a  long  bench  and  by  the  third  or 
fourth  occupation,  the  girls  became  aware  that  an- 
other person  had  formed  the  same  habit — a  slight, 
elderly  woman  with  blonde-grey  hair,  large,  mild, 
blue  eyes,  cut  steel  earrings,  long  and  dangling,  and 
several  lengths  of  gold  chain  wrapped,  by  way  of 
ornament,  about  her  neck.  She  wore  each  day  the 
same  dress  of  black  silk,  quaintly  puffed,  which  re- 
minded Sydney  of  certain  of  Du  Maurier's  drawings, 
especially  in  the  way  the  feather  of  her  little  hat 
drooped  down  over  her  hair.  Acquaintances  are 
readily  made  under  such  circumstances,  but  it  was 
characteristic  of  both  parties  that  nearly  a  week 
passed  before  they  exchanged  more  than  a  greeting. 
The  stranger,  while  realizing  at  once  the  nationality 
of  the  two  girls,  was  yet  struck  by  something  cool 
and  untouched  in  their  attitude — for  their  independ- 
ence and  self-sufficiency  had  not  brought  that  free 
and  easy  manner  which  she  associated  with  young 
women  from  the  States.  The  girls  talked  in  voices 
rather  high,  perhaps,  and  accents  unmistakable  yet 
not  unpleasant,  while  hardly  noticing  the  quiet  little 
lady,  until  that  afternoon  when  everyone  took  to 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  13 

wearing  the  small  paper  flags  of  their  country,  when 
she  began  the  conversation. 

"You  are  wearing  your  colours,  I  see,"  glancing 
at  Elizabeth  who  had  attached  a  miniature  Stars 
and  Stripes  to  her  buttonhole.  Both  Americans 
smiled  and  the  younger  somewhat  eagerly  responded, 
"Everybody  is  doing  it  today,  and  it  seems  to  make 
us  feel  better.  .  .  ." 

"In  that  case,"  replied  the  stranger,  "I  must  buy 
one  too—"  and  she  called  a  boy  to  her  and  purchased 
the  Union  Jack. 

"Do  you  think  we  shall  get  away  from  here  soon?" 
Elizabeth  ventured,  pushed  on  by  her  anxiety  which 
was  keen  that  afternoon. 

"So  soon  as  the  mobilization  is  over,  then  there 
would  be  no  harm  trying,"  the  lady  rejoined,  "but, 
of  course,  you  saw  the  notice  in  the  Consulate  tell- 
ing us  all  to  remain  quite  quiet  until  it  was  well  for 
us  to  move?" 

The  girls  had  seen  a  similar  notice,  couched  in 
terms  of  entreaty  and  signed  by  Mr.  Bryan,  but 
it  had  never  occurred  to  them  to  pay  any  attention 
to  it,  and  they  said  so.  The  other  was  surprised, 
even  shocked,  though  she  did  not  show  it,  merely 
adding  a  trifle  coldly: 

"Of  course  you  want  to  go  home — everybody 
does.  But  I  was  thinking  today  that  of  all  people 
here  the  Americans  are  the  most  fortunate.  The 
American  women  are  sure  of  seeing  their  men  alive 
and  well  when  they  do  get  home." 

This  was  a  new  idea  and  the  two  digested  it  in 
silence. 

"Then  why  don't  the  English  rush  home  at  once?" 
Sydney  cried! 

"You  saw  the  notice,"  answered  the  other  with 
finality.  "We  are  ordered  to  stay  I" 

Later  in  her  life,  Sydney  was  to  realize  that  the 


i4       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

difference  in  point  of  view  was  national.  At  the 
moment  she  thought  that  Englishwomen  must  be 
rather  poor  creatures.  At  the  same  time  she  wished 
to  disclaim  for  herself  and  Elizabeth  any  particular 
sense  of  hardship. 

'Tin  rather  glad,  Bess,"  she  said  meditatively, 
"that  I  haven't  anybody  at  home  who  is  upset  and 
worried  by  all  this." 

Elizabeth's  expression  was  impatient.  She  was 
by  no  means  a  selfish  person,  yet  her  feeling  if  ana- 
lysed really  was  that  if  nations  all  went  mad  to- 
gether, they  must  expect  such  tragedies.  If  Europe 
was  really  so  impossible  as  to  begin  universal  war 
for  "no  reason,"  as  she  put  it,  of  course  their  people 
must  suffer.  But  why  couldn't  they  let  the  Americans 
— who  were  so  much  more  sensible  and  self-con- 
trolled— get  out  of  their  way  first? 

"I  should  have  thought  somehow  that  England 
might  have  managed  to  stay  out!"  she  remarked. 

"On  the  contrary,"  replied  their  acquaintance  still 
quite  tranquilly,  "we  were  all  of  us  most  dreadfully 
afraid  that  she  might — and  thankful  beyond  meas- 
ure that  we  are  able  to  look  one  another  in  the  face." 

Unable  to  cope  further  with  the  conversation, 
Elizabeth  murmured  something  and  was  silent.  The 
stranger  turned  to  Sydney  with  some  observation 
about  their  trip,  and  Sydney  was  glad  enough  to 
leave  the  outbreak  of  war  and  all  the  ignorance  of 
which  it  convicted  them,  for  something  pleasanter. 
By  and  by  she  proffered  their  names  and  heard 
the  elderly  lady's.  She  was  a  Miss  Violand — Miss 
Helen  Violand,  lived  in  London,  quite  alone;  and 
for  many  years  had  been  accustomed  to  spend  Whit- 
suntide in  France. 

"But  this  year,"  she  concluded,  "I  thought  I  would 
try  Montreux  for  a  change.  Wasn't  it  odd  ?" 

"Luckily,  we  too  gave  up  Germany,"  Sydney  said, 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  15 

wondering  when  Whitsuntide  was  and  not  daring  to 
ask.  "We  came  to  Switzerland  because  I  did  so 
want  to  see  the  Alps." 

She  looked  across  the  lake  to  where  the  rosy  cloud 
of  Mont  Blanc  lifted  like  some  distant  flower  and 
her  eyes  dreamed  upon  it.  Miss  Violand  studied 
the  two  young  faces.  At  first  sight  she  had  thought 
that  one  was  pretty  and  one  was  plain ;  at  the  second 
she  decided  that  one  was  pretty  and  the  other  full 
of  an  exotic  quality  hard  to  define,  which  had  a 
beauty  of  its  own,  charged  with  sensitiveness  and 
vitality. 

By  the  next  afternoon  she  had  drawn  their  story 
from  them — it  was  highly  typical  and  to  Miss  Vio- 
land's  experience,  entirely  strange.  Elizabeth 
Chapin  and  Sydney  Lea  had  met  and  become  friends 
at  college.  The  elder  was  from  the  west:  the 
younger  from  New  England.  Both  had  sprung 
from  families  knowing  a  regularity  of  life  and  ease 
of  circumstance  ignored  by  the  novelist — a  part  of 
the  firm  underlying  texture  of  the  American  social 
fabric.  The  father  of  Elizabeth  was  in  business; 
he  was  amply  able  to  support  a  daughter,  but  he 
was  neither  grieved  nor  surprised  to  find  that  his 
daughter  had  no  desire  to  be  supported.  They  were 
on  excellent  terms;  but  Mr.  Chapin's  second  mar- 
riage had  given  Elizabeth  a  sufficient  excuse  to 
prolong  her  college  career  into  a  fellowship.  Her 
father  had  been  entirely  willing  that  she  would  take 
the  European  journey  which  is  held  to  be  the  birth- 
right of  every  American  girl.  Elizabeth  carried 
with  her  on  her  travels,  if  she  had  but  known  it,  an 
atmosphere  which  enfolded  her  as  completely  as  a 
diver's  helmet,  which  kept  the  significance  of  all 
she  saw,  in  its  broader  aspects,  at  least,  from  reach- 
ing her  mind  or  adding  to  her  stock  of  convictions. 
She  was  not  provincial  more  than  was  natural;  she 


16        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

had  kept  a  certain  womanly  freshness  and  added 
it  to  practical  shrewdness  and  common  sense.  But 
her  profound  feeling  that  Europe  was  "different" 
was  not  accompanied  by  any  knowledge  of  the  differ- 
ence, nor  any  wish  to  possess  such  a  knowledge. 
Born  in  society  where,  if  her  name  was  Chapin,  the 
names  of  her  friends  were  as  likely  to  be  Mosen- 
heimer  or  Caporetti ;  Elizabeth  was  not  apt  to  have 
that  strong  sense  of  nationality  which  might  have 
better  explained  the  present  situation  to  her.  The 
Mosenheimers,  Chapins,  and  Caporettis  were  all 
good  Americans — up  to  the  present,  that  is.  How 
then  was  Elizabeth  to  understand  the  blind  forces  of 
race?  Her  twenty-four  years  had  been  spent  very 
largely  among  persons  of  her  own  age  and  sex.  She 
had  advanced  views  of  the  suffrage  question — but 
was  not  militant.  Elizabeth's  strength  lay  in  her 
courage  and  efficiency,  and,  if  her  mind  was  closed 
to  a  good  many  subjects,  life  was  thereby  made  much 
simpler  for  her. 

So  Sydney  often  reflected  with  a  touch  of  regret. 
Her  own  situation  was  very  different  and  it  had 
not  so  far  been  made  easier  by  the  restlessness  of 
her  imagination.  She  had  remembered  no  parents 
— both  had  been  killed  in  an  accident,  when  she  was 
a  little  girl,  and  the  only  picture  that  her  mind 
retained  at  all,  was  of  a  man,  quite  vague  in  per- 
sonality, who  read  or  recited  poetry  to  her  on  winter 
evenings.  Most  of  her  girlhood  had  been  spent 
at  school,  with  holidays  at  an  aunt's.  A  college 
course  was  the  normal  career  for  a  girl  of  her  pas- 
sionate interest  in  books;  the  trustee  of  her  father's 
estate  had  never  discouraged  it,  because,  although 
it  left  Sydney  with  a  thousand  or  two  less,  it  was 
education,  and  nobody  supposed  that  she  ever  meant 
to  be  idle.  In  truth,  that  came  near  to  being  what 
Sydney  had  meant.  Despite  her  New  England  up- 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  17 

bringing  and  her  consciousness  of  vague  and  ven- 
turesome stirrings,  she  had  as  yet  felt  no  desire  for 
a  career  of  any  sort.  She  had  read  both  widely  and 
thoroughly,  and  in  her  present  mood,  she  was  by 
way  of  feeling  that  all  her  time  and  energy  were 
needed  to  relate  this  mass  of  reading — this  vica- 
rious experience  contained  in  literature — to  the  real 
experience  of  life.  She  found  herself  perpetually 
noting  and  comparing  and  trying  to  understand; 
being  intensely  elated  when  this  process  brought 
a  result,  and  proportionately  puzzled  and  distressed 
when  it  did  not.  A  nature  like  Elizabeth's,  moving 
on  well-laid  rails  of  training  and  purpose  toward 
definite  ends,  became  more  and  more  of  a  marvel 
to  her,  although  it  was  a  nature  to  be  respected  and 
loved. 

In  her  classes,  Sydney's  work  had  been  erratic 
and  unequal  though  at  times  remarkably  brilliant. 
Over  her  classmates  she  had  obtained  a  strong  in- 
fluence, of  which  the  cause  seemed  chiefly  to  lie  in 
her  penetrative  imagination.  On  the  whole,  the 
four  years  had  not  satisfied  her  as  it  had  Elizabeth; 
and  Sydney  had  regarded  them  much  more  in  the 
light  of  preparation  than  of  an  end  in  themselves. 
The  society  of  her  own  age  and  sex  left  her  cold — 
a  coldness  of  which  she  was  secretly  ashamed.  How- 
ever she  had  graduated  well  enough  to  secure  a  posi- 
tion on  the  staff  of  a  woman's  paper  in  the  college 
town,  and  she  had  spent  more  money — not  without 
protest  from  her  trustee  this  time — in  a  course  of 
Stenography  and  typewriting.  This  position  she 
had  held  till  a  lucky  encounter  had  led  to  a  better 
opening  in  no  less  a  place  than  New  York.  Such 
an  exciting  prospect  as  this  took  her  breath  away 
and  justified  every  rashness  of  a  trip  across  the  sea. 
Her  trustee  pointed  out  that  such  a  journey  would 
reduce  Sydney's  fortune  to  a  very  few  thousand  dol- 


i8       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

lars — far  too  few  to  live  on  as  her  father  would 
have  wished.  But  the  trustee  was  soft-hearted  and 
her  daring  had  its  appeal;  if  she  chose  to  sell  a  bond 
or  two  and  spend  the  proceeds  in  this  manner,  who 
could  blame  her?  Moreover,  his  recollection  of 
Edmund  Lea,  the  girl's  father,  with  his  courage  and 
daring,  love  of  poetry  and  love  of  experience,  made 
it  quite  certain  that  he  would  never  have  denied  her. 
Such  were  the  simple  histories  which  Miss  Vio- 
land  heard  in  several  instalments,  and  simple  as  they 
were,  yet  in  their  independence  and  activity,  their 
absence  of  any  deterrent  authority,  the  attitude  to- 
ward money — "quite  as  though  it  didn't  matter 
and  one  could  always  be  sure  of  getting  it!"  as 
the  hearer  told  herself — she  felt  them  as  absolutely 
novel.  Not  the  two  travelling  alone  puzzled  her, — 
ever  so  many  English  girls  went  about  alone, 
although  not  generally  in  their  early  twenties  or  on 
a  journey  of  three  thousand  miles — but  it  was  the 
curious  professional  way  it  was  done.  "And  not 
a  bit  like  Daisy  Miller  1"  she  inwardly  commented. 


CHAPTER  III 

"You  look  tired,  both  of  you,"  said  Miss  Violand 
sympathetically,  as  her  friends  came  toward  her 
and  dropped  upon  the  bench  by  her  side. 

"I  should  say  we  were !"  declared  Elizabeth. 

"We  have  been  hearing  those  everlasting  women  at 
the  consulate.  They  are  twin  sisters — English — only 
one  is  married  to  an  American,  and  they  insist  on 
travelling  home  together.  But  of  course  the  mar- 
ried one  thinks  that  she  ought  to  travel  with  the 
Americans,  and  the  English  one  is  equally  firm  about 
travelling  with  the  English.  They  spend  all  their 
time  in  going  from  their  consul  to  ours  and  arguing 
it  out  until  everybody  is  sick  of  them.  Neither  one 
will  give  in." 

"Well,  on  my  part,  I  have  more  cheerful  news," 
said  Miss  Violand.  "I  heard — from  a  friend  who  is 
likely  to  know — that  the  trains  to  Paris  will  probably 
begin  running  the  day  after  tomorrow.  That  means 
money,  I  should  think.  You  both  have  your  pass- 
ports?" 

"If  sitting  in  the  consulate  for  days  and  days," 
replied  Elizabeth,  "can  give  them  to  us — why  yes!" 

"Well,  I  was  going  to  ask  you  a  favor,"  the  elder 
woman  continued,  "that  when  the  time  comes  to 
move,  you  will  let  me  go  with  you.  You  see  I  am 
not  overstrong  and  my  friend  will  not  be  able  to 
travel  for  some  time  longer.  I  am  very  anxious,  too, 
to  get  home." 

So  it  was  arranged.  They  were  to  meet  and  re- 
port progress  every  afternoon,  and  to  move  on  just 
as  soon  as  the  re-opening  of  the  banks  made  the  jour- 
ney possible.  Elizabeth  was  frankly  skeptical  about 
when  that  would  be  and  her  companion's  compara- 
tive indifference  irritated  her  at  times.  "Sydney's 

19 


20       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

too  unpractical,"  she  told  herself  with  impatience, 
"she  doesn't  seem  to  realize  or  to  fear  anything." 

Realize  what?  Fear  what?  These  questions  the 
younger  girl  was  continually  trying  to  answer.  The 
waves  of  terror  which  rose  from  that  heterogeneous 
crowd  vibrated  in  her  soul  and  her  nerves — but  had 
no  definite  origin  to  her  mind.  She  felt  them  every- 
where— at  the  doors  of  banks  where  grey-faced  men 
stood  as  if  helpless — at  telegraph  offices  where 
women  lingered  in  tears — in  the  parlours  of  the 
Grand  Hotel. 

"I  wouldn't  care  a  bit  if  I  could  only  get  away 
from  here,"  she  heard  one  woman  miserably  say  to 
another.  "It's  the  being  shut  up  like  rats  in  a  trap 
that  makes  me  so  nervous,  Minnie.  If  we  could 
only  just  get  some  money!" 

"But  there  aren't  any  trains,"  Minnie  reminded 
her,  unsympathetically. 

"There  may  be  a  train  tomorrow!" 

"What  good  is  that  to  us?"  rejoined  the  exas- 
perated Minnie, — "when  we  have  no  money!" 

The  sagacious  Elizabeth  announced  that  she  pro- 
posed to  form  her  plans  without  anybody's  advice  or 
assistance.  "Of  course  they  want  to  keep  one  here 
as  long  as  possible,"  she  scornfully  remarked,  "until 
we're  all  starved  out  or  the  Germans  have  settled 
down  to  besiege  the  town-  Why  on  earth  don't  the 
people  at  home  do  something?" 

"Because  we're  all  so  awfully  unimportant,"  her 
companion  answered.  "What  does  it  matter  if  the 
Americans  get  home  comfortably  or  not?" 

Elizabeth  stared  at  her.  "I  think  it  matters  a 
great  deal,"  she  said  with  impatience.  "You're  so 
funny,  Sydney!  What  is  it  to  you  if  Europe  has  a 
war  or  not?  .  .  .  You  know  what  the  President 
says — we  read  it  today:  aren't  you  a  neutral?" 

Sydney  wasn't,  but  she  didn't  push  it. 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  21 

"Of  course,  if  you  bad  a  family  at  home,  you'd 
be  in  more  of  a  hurry  to  get  there,"  Elizabeth  ac- 
knowledged. "I  expect  Father  is  perfectly  wild." 

Miss  Violand  was  not  the  only  acquaintance  they 
had  made  in  Geneva  this  week,  because  everybody 
at  the  pension  Voltaire  talked  to  everyone  else. 
There  was  a  young  man  of  Balkan  nationality  with 
a  name  sounding  like  Crackerbox,  who  joined  Eliza- 
beth on  the  street  on  one  occasion  and  made  himself 
very  agreeable.  That  the  occurrence  had  more  signi- 
ficance for  him  than  for  her,  was  shown  on  the  next 
day  when  he  smilingly  suggested  getting  a  friend, 
and  all  four  going  off  somewhere  for  several  days 
together,  pour  faire  V amour — as  he  put  it.  He 
was  not  only  disappointed,  but  distinctly  surprised  at 
the  way  his  plan  was  received. 

"Mais  Mesdcmoiselles  sont  seules!"  he  added 
in  explanation;  and  Elizabeth  could  not  deny  it, 
though  angry  none  the  less. 

There  was  a  Greek  lady  who  held  Sydney  spell- 
bound all  one  evening  with  an  impassioned  narrative 
in  a  French,  little  better  than  her  own,  which  finally 
turned  out  to  be  the  history  of  the  very  striking 
misconduct  of  her  own  grandmother!  Elizabeth 
was  highly  indignant  with  Sydney  because  she  was 
not  shocked,  only  very  much  amused.  Sydney,  Eliza- 
beth felt,  was  developing  the  strangest  states  of  mind 
and  the  most  unaccountable  re-actions.  A  trip 
to  Europe  was  a  journey  in  order  to  behold  the 
monuments  of  History  and  the  masterpieces  of 
Art  and  Nature;  one's  chief  business  was  to  survey 
the  Alps,  or  the  Tower  of  London,  or  the  Mona 
Lisa.  But  whereas  Sydney  had  considered  the 
Alps,  the  Tower  of  London,  the  Mona  Lisa  with  an 
attention  which  held  in  it  something  coolly  imper- 
sonal, yet  she  had  been  thrilled  to  the  soul  by  trifles 
merely  curious — at  least  in  her  companion's  opinion. 


22       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

A  skylark,  which,  springing  up  from  her  feet,  had 
lost  itself,  singing  in  the  blue;  a  London  policeman 
standing  impassive  in  the  evening  mist;  a  Savoyard 
woman,  knitting,  as  she  walked  behind  her  cattle — 
these  had  been  the  sights  which  had  brought  delight 
into  Sydney's  eyes.  And  now — now  when  the  whole 
continent  had  suddenly  turned  itself  into  an  assem- 
blage of  dangerous  lunatics  and  the  sensible  thing 
to  do  was  to  get  back  as  quickly  as  possible  to  the  only 
country  where  people  were  still  sane — now  was  the 
time  Sydney  became  really  interested  and  began  to 
encourage  all  these  extraordinary  people  in  their 
disgusting  conversation  I 

Meanwhile  the  sun  blazed  on  the  lake  all  day  and 
the  electric  lights  beat  upon  it  all  night.  Mont 
Blanc  bloomed  at  sunset  on  the  eastern  sky  like  a 
great  rose;  the  restless,  variegated  crowd  surged 
back  and  forth  with  chattering  lips  and  anxious  eyes. 
The  tall  lady  with  white  hair  wearing  a  long  white 
cloak,  whom  they  had  nicknamed  "The  Duchess  of 
Alba,"  still  fed  the  swans  from  the  parapet;  while 
around  the  He  Rousseau  clustered  other  swans  in 
a  neat  black  and  white  costume  suggesting  the  most 
distinguished  French  taste. 

Sydney  wondered  what  was  happening  behind  the 
barrier  of  Alps — what  hurrying,  what  struggle,  what 
agonies  of  farewell,  what  suffering 

Then  suddenly  it  all  vanished.  Suddenly,  Geneva 
— its  lake,  its  crowds,  and  its  imprisonment,  slipped 
over  the  edge  of  time  and  was  gone.  Reality  passed 
in  a  few  hours  into  memory. 

Elizabeth  had  awakened  with  a  headache,  so  it 
was  Sydney  who  set  forth  on  that  morning's  weary 
errand  to  the  bank  which  had  become  merely  per- 
functory. But  the  moment  Elizabeth  heard  her  re- 
turning step,  galloping  up  the  stairs — she  knew  that 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  23 

something    had    happened.      Her    friend    entered, 
waving  over  her  head  a  bunch  of  dirty  banknotes. 

"Lucky,  was  I? — Every  sou  we've  got — and  don't 
lose  it!  The  man  at  Cook's  advised  me  to  draw  it 
all  out  when  I  had  the  chance.  .  .  .  Yes,  the  trains 
are  running  again  though  it's  a  beastly  journey.  But 
he  says  we'd  better  take  it — because  the  Germans  are 
trying  to  get  to  Paris,  just  as  they  did  in  1870." 

Then,  as  Elizabeth  sat  up,  her  headache  gone 
as  if  by  magic,  Sydney  pursued  .  .  .  "The  mob  was 
simply  awful,  but  I  was  among  the  first  .  .  .  there 
was  a  brute  of  a  man  who  tried  to  push  me  aside 
and  get  my  place  at  the  window,  only  an  Englishman 
leaned  forward  and  got  me  back  into  line — ;  that 
is — I  thought  he  was  an  Englishman  until  he  spoke 
to  the  creature  in  some  sort  of  a  beastly  language 
and  it  crumpled  him  up  so  the  nice  man  put  me  into 
the  line  as  quickly  and  as  neatly  as  possible.  Any- 
how I  got  the  last  French  bills  there  were — and 
the  Russian  or  Greek  or  whatever  he  was — was 
furious.  Now  shall  I  go  and  sec  Miss  Violand?" 

Later  in  the  day,  two  cables  arrived,  one  from 
Elizabeth's  father,  the  other  from  Mr.  Hansell, 
who  acted  as  Sydney's  trustee.  Both  urged  an  im- 
mediate return,  via  England,  and  Mr.  Chapin  spoke 
of  money  which  would  be  sent  there,  to  await  their 
arrival.  Miss  Violand,  too,  had  received  some  mes- 
sages. Neither  of  her  young  friends  at  all  grasped 
what  one  of  them  at  least  meant  to  her,  when  she 
folded  it  with  the  quiet  remark:  "As  I  feared,  I 
shall  be  too  late  to  see  my  nephew.  He  has  left 
for  France." 

^  While  packing  in  the  strained  hurry  of  a  dream, 
Elizabeth  had  one  conversation  which  she  did  not 
mention  to  Sydney,  all  the  more  because  it  gave 
her  a  thin  chill  of  fear.  It  was  with  the  inn-keeper, 
a  gruff,  harassed  little  man,  whose  hesitation  to  re- 


24       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

ccive  her  payment  changed  into  protest  when  he 
heard  her  plan.  The  journey  was  impossible — 
Mademoiselle  had  not  realized  that  she  would  be 
wiser  to  stay  where  she  was  for  the  present.  He 
would  do  all  he  could  to  make  her  comfortable  and 
if  money  were  the  question,  why,  he  could  wait  if 
necessary;  Americans  could  be  trusted.  When  Eliz- 
abeth, smiling  and  shaking  her  head,  moved  away, 
quite  determined;  he  spoke  more  plainly.  "The 
jtraan  goes  very  near  to  the  German  frontier — 
dangerously  near — did  Mademoiselle  know  what  the 
Germans  were?  News  had  come  through  from 
Belgium  .  .  ."  and  Elizabeth,  her  large,  steadfast, 
and  ignorant  eyes  fixed  upon  the  man's  face,  heard 
his  plain  statements,  and  realized  in  utter  stupefac- 
tion that  he  was  even  offering  to  furnish  her  with  the 
means  of  swift  and  certain  death.  How  she  thanked 
him  and  declined  she  hardly  knew;  it  was  all  con- 
fused and  alarming  and  must  not  be  dwelt  upon. 

"The  things  these  foreigners  think  of!"  she  said 
to  herself  as  she  raced  upstairs  to  her  packing. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THERE  was  probably  no  event  in  the  lives  of  these 
two  young  women  which  they  were  to  remember 
more  vividly  in  after  years  than  the  journey  from 
Geneva  to  London,  in  mid- August,  1914.  Yet  those 
memories  were  probably  very  different;  a  crisis  is 
ever  Janus-faced,  and  in  this  particular  case  a  jour- 
ney which  represented  to  Elizabeth  the  end  of  a 
holiday  and  the  release  from  terror — was  to  Sydney 
the  beginning  of  an  era,  if  not  the  beginning  of  life. 
And  it  began,  as  life  must  begin,  in  a  sort  of  chaotic 
confusion  in  the  dark,  a  departure  from  the  Pension 
Voltaire  just  as  the  lamps  were  paling  in  the  dawn. 
Although  they  were  two  hours  ahead  of  the  scheduled 
time  for  starting,  yet  the  station  was  already  a  mob 
of  people  and  their  seats,  in  a  sort  of  rough  corridor- 
car,  were  widely  separated.  Later  in  the  day,  at  the 
first  change  of  trains,  all  three  were  fortunate  enough 
to  get  places  in  the  same  carriage,  but  for  several 
hours  Sydney  was  wedged  in  the  midst  of  a  family 
who  ate  at  strange  foods,  and  piled  knobby  packages 
against  her  legs. 

Against  the  shrill  background  of  their  foreign 
chatter,  however,  she  became  conscious  at  moments 
of  an  English  voice,  which  seemed  not  quite  unfami- 
liar, and  on  turning  cautiously  around  she  saw  that 
it  was  indeed  the  Englishman  whose  quickness  had 
helped  her  into  the  queue  at  Cook's — and  whose 
lean  activity  of  frame  and  somewhat  unusual  features 
had  stamped  themselves  upon  her  memory.  He  was 
ensconced  in  a  corner,  in  conversation  with  a  man 
much  older,  his  face,  full  of  expression,  vividly  dra- 

25 


26       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

matized  their  talk,  of  which  scattered  sentences 
reached  her  ears. 

"Yes,  by  Jove,  of  course  one  took  a  risk,  but  the 
chance  was  perfectly  splendid  .  .  .  and  then  the 
consul  was  a  friend  of  mine  .  .  .  no,  an  American 
and  a  ripper !  But  for  him  I  never  would  have  done 
it.  He  knew  all  the  paths  and  I  didn't  want  any 
sentries  poking  into  my  pocket-book;  you  may  be 
sure  of  that." 

Sydney  heard  the  elder  man  ask  something  con- 
taining the  words  "Foreign  Office." 

"Well,  you  sec  I  can't  tell  till  I  get  there  .... 
one  never  knows  what  they're  going  to  want  .  .  ." 
Here  a  whistle  from  the  engine  drowned  out  the 
last  sentence  and  she  only  caught  the  very  end  of 
some  rather  long  statement  "...  So  you  see,  one 
can't  tell,  but  whatever  it  is,  I  know  I  shall  be  fright- 
fully keen  on  it." 

The  words  stuck  in  her  memory;  she  wondered 
what  the  man  had  been  doing  and  why  the  American 
consul  knew  all  the  paths  and  why  the  man  wanted 
to  avoid  a  sentry  and  where  .  .  .  till  drowsiness 
clouded  it  all  over  in  a  veil. 

The  chilly  dawn  gave  way  to  bright  morning  and 
that  in  turn  to  a  hot  noon  and  afternoon.  At  inter- 
vals one  changed  trains,  but  the  crowd,  the  pressure, 
the  haste,  the  anxiety,  one  never  changed.  Miss 
Violand,  who  was  looking  very  white  and  fragile, 
dozed  as  well  as  she  could  in  a  corner.  Elizabeth 
tried  to  read. 

Paris.  ...  At  this  point  both  of  their  memories 
became  confused.  To  Elizabeth,  Paris  meant  long 
waits  at  Consulates  and  banks  and  money-changers ; 
anxious  consultations  over  the  French  for  this  and 
that — and  the  concentrated  pre-occupation  of  every- 
body; war-bread,  and  the  general  feeling,  as  she  ex- 
pressed it  that  "  the  heel  of  Europe  was  in  her  back." 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  27 

To  her  friend,  Paris  was  the  memory  of  something 
dauntless  and  beautiful,  a  city  which  blazed  with 
flags,  whose  pavements  glittered  with  August  sun- 
shine; whose  taxis  went  faster  around  corners  than 
taxis  ever  went  before;  whose  people  hurried  with 
smiling  lips  and  anguished  eyes. 

It  seemed  to  Sydney  as  though  new  ideas  and  im- 
pressions, new  values  in  life,  began  to  come  faster 
and  faster,  so  that  she  could  hardly  keep  pace  with 
them — .  The  quiet  small  hotel  to  which  Miss  Violand 
had  taken  them — for  Elizabeth  had  early  avowed 
her  ignorance  of  Paris  hotels — held  more  English 
people  than  Americans.  But  they  had  both  fallen 
into  conversation  that  first  evening,  with  a  charming 
girl  from  New  York,  whose  acute  appraising  eyes 
had  made  more  of  them  than  ever  they  made  of  her 
exceedingly  smart  clothes,  narrow  shoes,  hand-made 
blouses,  little  watch  crusted  with  diamonds  and  pic- 
turesquely simple  hat. 

"She's  lovely,"  Elizabeth  had  declared  in  re- 
sponse to  Sydney's  enthusiastic  admiration,  "but 
really  all  that  sort  cares  for  in  France,  is  the  jewelry 
and  clothes." 

Later  on  their  way  into  the  street,  the  two  met 
Miss  Lispenard  in  the  full  uniform  of  a  hospital 
nurse.  She  extended  her  hand  with  a  smile.  "I'm 
afraid  I  won't  be  here  tomorrow  to  wish  you  a 
Bon  Voyage"  she  observed  with  a  nod  toward  her 
suit-case,  "You  see  I'm  off  in  half  an  hour — my  base 
is  Amiens." 

"Then  you're  not  going  home  ?"  Elizabeth's  voice 
showed  amazement — "but  I  thought — "  she  paused 
in  confusion. 

"To  America — I?  Oh,  dear,  no— why,  what 
made  you  think  so?"  said  the  other,  opening  her 
eyes.  "I  never  intended  to  sail  for  a  moment.  There's 
too  much  to  do  here." 


28        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

"But  then  you're  not  afraid?  They  say  that  the 
Germans — "  and  once  more  Elizabeth  paused  be- 
fore the  steadiness  of  the  other's  eyes. 

"I'm  not  in  the  least  afraid,  thank  you,"  said 
Miss  Lispenard  with  her  cool  little  smile;  and  she 
shook  hands  and  bade  them  both  good-bye. 

"Well,  of  course  it's  all  very  fine,"  was  Elizabeth's 
comment  as  she  walked  with  Sydney  into  the  street, 
"but  I  should  think  her  place  would  be  at  home  in- 
stead of  getting  herself  mixed  up  with  things  which 
are  none  of  her  business." 

"I  think  she's  perfectly  splendid,"  Sydney  answer- 
ed, shaken  with  the  intensity  of  her  own  voice  and 
manner. 

"To  my  mind,  home  is  good  enough  for  most 
people  in  times  like  these,"  persisted  Elizabeth, 
"and  there's  plenty  of  work  to  be  done  there  too — 
only,  of  course,  it's  not  so  picturesque  as  nursing 
soldiers  and  all  that.  I  think  it's  the  duty  of  every 
American  to  go  home  as  f  ast  as  he  possibly  can  and 
remain  neutral,  as  the  President  asks  us  to  do." 

"There's  no  use  arguing  with  you,  Bess,  when 
you're  speaking  in  that  voice,"  Sydney  answered, 
"but  you're  talking  nonsense — and  so  is  he." 

"I'm  not  talking  nonsense.  All  this  seems  to  have 
unbalanced  you.  You  know  perfectly  well  what  I 
mean.  That  type  of  society  girl  who  spends  all  her 
time  over  here,  doesn't  represent  the  American  point 
of  view  in  any  way.  I  don't  object  to  her  nursing — 
only  she's  not  wanted — you  can  see  for  yourself  that 
the  French  don't  want  us,  can't  you?  It's  no  affair 
of  the  United  States.  Even  George  Washington 
said  that — "  Elizabeth  alleged  triumphantly.  "You 
don't  seem  to  be  patriotic  in  the  least." 

"Well,  if  the  Ajnerican  woman  isn't  going  to  do 
her  part  in  this  war,"  Sydney  replied,  "then  I'm 
ashamed  of  her,  that's  all." 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  29 

It  was  not  the  last  time  that  she  was  to  experience 
the  curious  disappointment  and  disillusion  in  respect 
to  the  point  of  view,  not  only  of  Elizabeth,  but  of 
the  more  educated  and  cultivated  members  of  society 
generally,  whether  of  her  own  or  of  other  countries, 
or  to  learn  how  badly  the  intellectuals  as  a  body  were 
to  fail  the  world  at  this  crisis.  It  was  not  the  last 
time  she  was  to  note  the  ignorance  of  the  well- 
informed;  the  indifference  of  the  sensitive;  the  nar- 
row-mindedness of  the  cosmopolite;  the  savage 
ferocity  of  the  civilized;  and  the  purblind  dullness  of 
the  farseeing.  On  the  other  hand,  she  was  to  find 
these  things  offset  by  phenomena  just  as  curious;  by 
the  devotion  and  self-sacrifice  of  the  self-indulgent; 
by  the  admirable  co-operation  of  the  untrained;  by 
the  deep  piety  and  religious  fervor  of  the  fool  who 
continued  to  say  in  his  heart  that  there  was  no  God; 
by  the  heroism  of  the  frivolous;  and  by  the  idealism 
of  the  materialist.  Elizabeth's  passionate  desire  for 
home,  Sydney  could  not  resent,  although  she  did  not 
share  it — but  it  was  a  shock  to  find  that  she  dis- 
paraged those  who  were  not  running  away  from  the 
spectacle  of  human  suffering  and  death,  and  that 
she  took  refuge  in  Presidential  catchwords  in  order 
to  justify  her  own  evasion.  That  was  a  shock;  and 
one  which  must  not  be  talked  about.  This  universal 
pain,  grief,  and  effort  which  wrung  Sydney's  heart 
and  strained  her  nerves  yet  added  a  terrible  fascina- 
tion to  the  spectacle  of  life — how  could  Elizabeth 
patronize  them  as  she  did — with  her  little  air  of 
inward  exultation  at  the  security  of  home?  How 
could  she  talk  as  she  did  about  trunks,  passports, 
and  the  rate  of  exchange,  and  the  necessity  of  get- 
ting a  lot  of  idle  tourists  out  of  the  way? 

"We  don't  matter  at  all — not  at  all — unless  we 
help!"  she  broke  out  fiercely,  as  her  gaze  fell  on  a 
notice  fastened  to  the  closed  shutters  of  a  shop  win- 


30       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

dow:  "Ferme;  le  personnel  est  sous  les  drapeaux." 
"Of  course  we  will  help,"  her  companion  hastened 
to  rejoin,  not  unmoved  by  the  emotion  in  her  friend's 
voice.  "You  remember  what  we  heard  at  the  Em- 
bassy— that  everywhere  we  were  opening  bureaus 
for  relief  already.  .  .  .  You  mustn't  think,  Syd, 
that  I  don't  admire  that  girl  for  laying  aside  her  lux- 
urious habits  and  working  hard,  no  doubt  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life.  It  will  be  a  great  experience  for  her 
— though  naturally  they  don't  send  nurses  anywhere 
near  the  danger." 

Fortunately  for  Elizabeth,  she  was  not  a  person 
to  contrast  her  own  preconceptions  with  the  facts. 
Her  enlightenment  came  in  time,  as  did  the  world's. 
No  doubt  there  were  many  intelligent  Americans  and 
even  some  English  who  visualized  the  same  sort  of 
orderly  battle,  in  which  certain  bodies  of  neatly- 
dressed  men  attacked  one  another  with  artillery  in 
an  honourable  and  perfunctory  manner,  at  the  end 
of  which,  if  the  Germans,  let  us  say,  were  the  victors, 
they  entered  the  disputed  village  and  remained  there- 
in, in  the  role  of  careful  guests  or  benevolent  police. 
This  vision  had  been  a  good  deal  coloured  by  the 
insistence  on  the  German  army  as  a  scientific  and 
well-trained  body — a  description  interpreted  by  the 
entire  United  States,  with  the  utmost  naivete,  accord- 
ing to  its  own  conception  of  these  terms,  and  the 
scientific  and  well-trained  persons  it  happened  to  have 
known.  English  people  also  shared  these  extra- 
ordinary delusions  and  regarded  the  actual  concom- 
itants of  German  invasion  either  as  the  invention 
of  the  yellow  press  or  the  exhalations  from  unbal- 
anced minds.  Not  the  French — they  had  seen  1870  ! 
Therefore,  one  should  not  laugh  at  Elizabeth's 
view — but  wonder,  rather,  why  her  companion,  with 
just  as  little  knowledge,  was  so  absolutely  certain 
that  it  was  wrong. 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  31 

Paris  seemed  to  contain  almost  as  little  author- 
itative news  as  Geneva,  but  the  atmosphere  was 
not  reassuring  and  clouded  the  last  half  of  their  jour- 
ney with  depression.  Miss  Violand  said  little;  her 
blue  eyes  seemed  anxiously  fixed  upon  some  distant 
vision.  Her  two  companions  were  on  a  sudden  very 
tired.  Elizabeth  had  felt  the  strain  more  acutely 
and  so  much  so  that  she  could  hardly  rouse  from  her 
fatigue  at  the  sight  of  the  channel,  or  the  cliffs  of 
Dover  white  with  tents,  or  the  scouting  aeroplane 
which  dipped  and  rose  over  the  sea.  England,  where 
her  language  was  spoken  and  where  the  people  were 
calm  and  showed  no  panic,  seemed  to  her  like  a 
house  of  a  friend. 


CHAPTER  V 

ELIZABETH  did  not  throw  off  the  fatigues  of  the 
journey  as  quickly  as  usual,  and  instead  of  rushing 
around  the  next  morning  to  Cockspur  Street,  to 
see  about  their  sailing  as  she  confidently  expected  to 
do — she  preferred  to  rest. 

But  London,  immovable  as  law  and  eternal  as  the 
stars;  London,  more  full  of  activity  than  in  most 
Augusts,  perhaps,  but  wearing  still  a  homely  and 
familiar  face,  expressive  of  order  and  power — Lon- 
don was  not  a  place  in  which  to  feel  panic,  and  Eliza- 
beth soon  recovered  from  hers.  The  lodging-house 
where  they  had  stayed  earlier  in  the  summer  was 
much  the  same.  Only  the  sea  voyage,  into  which, 
it  is  true,  a  thought  of  enemy  raiders  might  intrude, 
lay  ahead,  with  home  at  the  end  of  it. 

Her  preoccupation  with  her  own  thoughts  and 
relief  was  so  great  that  Elizabeth  failed  to  notice 
the  absorbed  state  of  her  companion.  Since  their 
argument  in  Paris  over  the  duties  of  the  American, 
Sydney  had  avoided  all  discussion  of  the  subject. 
Her  mind  was  occupied  in  straining  over  the  prob- 
lems new  to  it  and  her  gaze  seemed  to  be  turned  in- 
ward. She  gladly  took  her  share  of  the  tasks  which 
had  earlier  fallen  to  her  more  practical  fellow- 
traveller;  she  attended  to  formalities;  sent  cable- 
grams; and  did  errands  in  the  City.  She  also  made 
certain  inquiries  and  completed  certain  arrange- 
ments respecting  which  she  said  nothing  to  her  com- 
panion. 

Their  cabin  was  secured  on  the  small  Cunarder 
expecting  to  sail  on  the  last  day  of  August;  and  on 
the  first  day  she  felt  able,  Elizabeth  went  to  the 
United  States  consul,  who  chanced  to  be  an  acquain- 

32 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  33 

tance  of  her  father's,  and  had  a  long  conversation 
with  him.  He  was  very  patient  and  kind,  advised 
her  on  no  account  to  give  up  her  carefully  chosen 
cabin  for  the  makeshifts  which  would  be  the  only 
possibility;  and  succeeded  in  convincing  her,  that, 
however  black  things  looked — and  he  could  not  say 
they  looked  well —  there  was  small  chance  that  the 
German  army  could  get  to  England  in  time  to  pre- 
vent her  leaving  by  the  last  of  August.  Then  he 
turned  his  attention  to  the  next  terrified  or  worried 
person  whose  ticket  or  passport  he  must  look  at,  or 
whose  vacillations  he  must  set  at  rest. 

"There  ought  to  be  a  special  suite  in  heaven  set 
apart  for  consuls,"  she  told  Sydney  when  she  joined 
her.  "Did  you  get  your  vise?" 

Sydney  shook  her  head.  "No,  Bess,"  she  an- 
swered very  gently,  "I  didn't;  because,  you  see,  I've 
decided  not  to  go  home  after  all." 

For  a  moment  Bess  was  dumb.  "You  are  going 
to  stay?"  she  repeated  incredulously. 

"I  am  going  to  stay." 

"In  England?" 

"In  London,  for  the  present." 

"But,  Sydney,  your  work — your  position!"  cried 
poor  Elizabeth. 

"I  have  already  written  to  them  giving  it  up — 
and  by  the  same  mail  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Hansell — " 
then,  seeing  her  friend's  distress  and  dismay,  she 
continued,  "You  must  not  be  angry  with  me,  Bess 
dear — I  simply  had  to  do  it.  It's  not  the  same  at 
all  with  me  as  it  is  with  many  people.  You  know 
how  very  alone  I  am — there's  nobody  to  whom  it 
would  matter  really,  whether  I  live  in  England  or  in 
America.  I  know  we  haven't  felt  at  all  the  same 
about  this  war — not  from  the  first.  Europe  did  not 
interest  me  much  before  it  happened;  it  seemed  just 
like  a  series  of  vast  galleries  and  museums — rather 


34        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

wearying — but  now!    There's  so  much  to  be  done." 
"But    Sydney,    you    mad,    mad   creature!      You 
haven't  thought!      You   can't  afford  it — what  arc 
you  going  to  live  on — how  are  you  going  to  live?" 

"Well,"  answered  Sydney  composedly,  "yester- 
day I  sold  my  passage  ticket  to  that  nice  Miss  Vin- 
cent at  our  lodgings — she's  crazy  to  get  home  on 
account  of  her  mother.  That's  £25.  Then  there's 
ten  or  fifteen  pounds  left  on  my  letter  of  credit,  and 
you  said — didn't  you — ?  that  of  the  money  your 
father  sent,  ten  pounds  had  been  added  by  Mr. 
Hansell  for  me.  That  £50  ought  to  do  for  the 
present  until  he  gets  my  letter." 

This  evidence  of  thought  and  careful  calculation 
stabbed  Elizabeth  like  a  disloyalty.  The  friendship 
of  these  two  had  a  very  real  foundation;  no  one 
knew  Sydney's  possibilities  better  than  her  friend, 
whether  of  mind  or  of  character,  and  the  last  two 
weeks  had  not  been  without  their  effect.  Yet  that 
Sydney  should  remain  alone  in  London,  through  all 
the  sinister  chances  of  the  future,  was  something  to 
which  Elizabeth  could  not  consent  without  a 
struggle.  She  changed  the  tone  of  the  protest,  how- 
ever, and  no  longer  spoke  of  the  plan  as  though  it 
were  a  foolish  caprice.  Rather  she  argued  against 
it  seriously  and  steadily,  using  all  her  battery  of 
common  sense  and  prudent  counsel.  But  the  girl 
was  not  to  be  shaken.  Elizabeth  never  knew,  never 
was  to  know,  how  much  contact  with  herself  and 
other  fellow-Americans  since  August  first  had  in- 
fluenced Sydney's  decision  not  to  return.  To  the 
younger  girl,  the  outbreak  of  war  had  been  some- 
thing intense  and  crucial — a  trumpet-call  to  every 
emotion,  to  every  energy  of  her  being.  Not  only 
that,  but  in  this  spectacle  of  the  suffering  and  terror 
of  the  humble,  in  the  universal  self-sacrifice  and 
courage,  she  seemed  to  draw  a  deeper  compre- 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  35 

hension,  a  more  profound  inspiration.  The  change 
in  her,  the  call  to  her,  can  only  be  described  as  re- 
ligious. And  at  the  same  moment  as  this  suffering — 
side  by  side  with  this  greatest  of  all  sacrifices, — 
she  had  beheld  Elizabeth  and  her  fellow  country- 
men generally,  busied  about  their  personal  safety, 
occupied  with  their  insignificant  comfort,  panic- 
stricken,  credulous,  thanking  God  that  they  were 
not  as  other  men !  Return  to  that  atmosphere — 
when  every  day  the  invader  drew  nearer — never! 

She  brushed  most  of  her  friend's  arguments 
aside,  therefore,  with  a  manner  which  showed  as 
nothing  else  could  have  done,  their  differing  sense  of 
values;  but  when  it  came  to  the  practical  aspect  of 
her  project,  her  answers  were  perfectly  clear.  As 
regards  work,  she  had  already  secured  it,  and  was 
to  begin  to-morrow. 

"It  was  on  one  of  those  streets  near  the  Park — 
Mayfair,  they  call  it,  don't  they? — and  I  was  walk- 
ing along  thinking  what  I  could  do.  One  of  those 
big  houses  had  evidently  been  opened  as  a  hospital 
— there  was  a  flag  over  the  door  and  a  Red  Cross 
sign.  Just  as  I  passed  they  were  lifting  a  man  into 
the  hall-way  from  an  ambulance.  The  nurse  came 
running;  she  looked  awfully  tired  and  confused. 
The  driver  had  evidently  spoken  to  her  about  keep- 
ing the  wounded  man  waiting  and  I  heard  her 
answer." 

"Well?"  Elizabeth  interjected,  breathless. 

"She  said,  'Of  course ;  there  should  be  someone  in 
the  office  to  attend  to  this — I  know  that  as  well  as 
you  do!  But  we  haven't  found  anyone  yet — and 
what  can  I  do?  I  am  leaving  a  bad  case  as  it  is!' 
So  after  the  man  had  been  carried  upstairs,  I  went 
in  and  offered  mvself." 

"Sydney,  you  didn't!     Well,  what  did  she  say?" 

"She  was  so  overcome  that  I  think  she  hardly 


36        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

heard  what  I  was  saying — but  she  jumped  at  it. 
You  see,  they  had  just  moved  in  and  already  the 
beds  were  full.  Most  of  the  nurses  were  lady- 
amateurs  in  high-heeled  slippers  and  strings  of 
pearls.  She  and  another  woman  were  the  only  pro- 
fessionals— and  they  had  not  taken  off  their  clothes 
for  three  nights." 

"But  still,"  Elizabeth  said  incredulously,  "were 
they  willing  to  take  you  in  out  of  the  street,  like 
that?'" 

"Oh,  I  showed  her  my  passport,  and  told  her  our 
consul  would  answer  for  me  (you'll  have  to  see  to 
that,  Bess)  and  I  told  her  that  I  could  typewrite. 
There  was  a  machine  there — very  old-fashioned. 
She  just  said,  'Quite  so'  and  'Oh,  yes,'  but  I'm 
sure  she  would  have  taken  me  if  I  had  been  a  circus- 
rider.  So  I  took  off  my  hat  and  spent  a  couple  of 
hours  there  trying  to  get  order  out  of  chaos.  You 
never  saw  such  a  muddle  in  your  life — doctors 
coming  and  going,  supplies  arriving,  and  the  tele- 
phone. .  .  .  !  When  I  went,  she  thanked  me  and 
said,  'You  really  will  come  to-morrow?  Americans 
are  splendid !'  ' 

"And  you  are  going  to  work  there  every  day — for 
nothing?" 

"For  the  present,  anyhow." 

"I  shall  insist,"  said  Elizabeth,  "in  your  writing 
about  it  to  Miss  Violand — I  wish  she  were  in  Lon- 
don!" 

Sydney  did  so  and  answer  came  in  due  course,  but 
Elizabeth  was  forced  to  acknowledge  that  it  was  of 
little  service.  Miss  Violand  wrote  warmly  of 
Sydney's  sympathy  and  wish  to  help;  she  knew  that 
they  could  always  "count  on  the  Americans."  At 
the  same  time  the  idea  of  any  young  lady  following 
such  a  course  was  evidently  to  be  regarded  with 
caution.  Girls  were  so  independent  these  days; 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  37 

no  doubt  the  war  would  make  a  great  deal  of  dif- 
ference in  the  matter  of  chaperonage.  .  .  .  She 
hoped  Sydney  would  do  nothing  rash.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  this  letter  in  the  eyes  of  Miss  Chapin, 
English  reader  at  Chillingsworth  College  for 
Women,  had  exactly  the  opposite  effect  to  that  in- 
tended, and  after  reading  it  Elizabeth  practically 
withdrew  her  opposition.  The  "young  lady"  and 
the  adjective  "rash"  were  sufficient  to  show  the 
difference  in  their  points  of  view.  To  her  mind, 
Sydney  was  relinquishing  a  promising  career  for  a 
wild  scheme  born  of  war-excitement,  but  the  inalien- 
able rights  of  the  American  girl  could  not  be  affected 
by  any  talk  of  young  women  and  their  chaperons. 

"They're  miles  behind  us,  aren't  they?"  was  all 
she  remarked. 

Miss  Violand's  letter  did  not  arrive  until  Sydney 
had  been  at  work  in  the  hospital  for  several  days. 
As  she  said,  there  never  was  such  a  muddle;  indi- 
vidual muddle  super-imposed  upon  a  muddle  which 
appeared  to  be  national  and  of  which  nobody 
seemed  ashamed.  Patients  had  been  accepted  be- 
fore the  equipment  was  complete,  and  the  zeal  of 
volunteer  nurses  only  added  to  Sister  Lucy's  per- 
plexities. There  was  no  proper  filing  system, 
whether  of  records  or  supplies;  and  every  form  of 
preparation  looked  forward  only  to  the  next  week. 
Sydney's  position  was  hardly  defined;  at  first  she  did 
a  little  of  everything  that  the  nurses  had  no  time  for. 
She  ordered  supplies;  she  ran  errands;  she  impro- 
vised a  card-catalogue  in  paste-board  boxes;  and  she 
filled  in  forms  for  the  helpless  young  volunteers  in 
high-heeled  slippers  whose  will  was  so  much  greater 
than  their  knowledge.  It  was  she  who  ran  out  into 
the  street  and  guided  the  stretcher  bearers  into  the 
house.  It  was  she  who  answered  the  telephone — 
and  the  trembling  questions  which  came  out  of  it. 


38        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

Later  on,  the  visiting  relatives  of  patients  became 
her  especial  charge,  a  task  which  she  prepared  for  by 
intelligent  attention  to  what  the  surgeons  said.  Little 
by  little  it  was  to  her  they  chiefly  talked;  of  all  mat- 
ters, that  is,  with  which  Sister  Lucy  should  not  be 
bothered.  Sydney's  unusual  quickness,  her  college 
training,  stood  her  in  good  stead  now. 

Even  Elizabeth  began  to  be  interested.  She  too 
ran  errands,  she  gave  advice,  and  she  did  not  appear 
to  be  sorry  when  word  came  that  her  ship  had  delayed 
its  sailing  for  a  few  days.  Also,  she  had  no  return  of 
panic,  although  during  all  this  crowded  time  the  news 
grew  graver,  hour  by  hour. 

Sydney  never  afterward  recalled  the  retreat  from 
Mons  but  as  a  chaotic  haste  and  muddle  of  tasks, 
one  never  finished  before  the  next  must  be  begun. 
Hurry,  suffering,  pain,  grief,  and  hurry  again;  burn- 
ing feet  and  aching  head,  the  smell  of  ether  and 
iodoform,  stretchers  and  surgeons  and  more  stretch- 
ers— these  things  stumbled  and  trod  over  each  other 
during  the  hours.  Perhaps  there  might  be  a  moment 
at  night  to  run  back  for  a  word  to  Elizabeth,  with 
gratitude  that  she  was  still  there;  but  on  the  whole 
one's  heart  and  thoughts  were  concentrated  on  that 
slowly  retreating  line  in  Flanders,  of  which  the  white- 
faced  women,  the  surgeons,  and  the  stretchers  seemed 
actually  to  form  a  part. 

The  days  fled  on,  the  time  of  parting  came  at 
last  .  .  .  the  great  shed  at  Euston,  the  noise,  the 
confusion  as  they  clung  together,  Elizabeth's  arm 
around  her,  Elizabeth's  warm,  wet  cheek  against 
her  own  .  .  .  and  then,  no  more  Elizabeth.  .  .  . 

Sydney  walked  out  of  the  train-shed  into  the  street 
and  stood  for  a  moment.  The  pale  September  sun- 
shine lay  on  the  roaring  London  pavement;  the  sky 
was  full  of  small  high  clouds.  Today  was  the  open- 
ing of  a  new  chapter,  and  the  girl  drew  a  long,  reso- 


THE  END  OF  THE  BEGINNING  39 

lute  breath  as  she  turned  her  steps  toward  her  work. 
And  then,  as  she  crossed  over  to  the  corner  where 
she  must'  take  her  'bus,  she  became  suddenly  aware 
that  the  people  who  waited  were  all  buying  papers  or 
opening  them  eagerly,  that  there  was  a  stir  and  a 
rustle  all  down  the  street  and  a  quickening  of  steps — 
an  animation  and  a  fresh  current  of  life,  heightened 
by  the  sudden  clamor  of  newsboys'  voices.  The 
battle  of  the  Marne  had  begun. 


BOOK  II 
NEW  TRAILS 


41 


CHAPTER  VI 

SIR  THOMAS  EASTERLY,  of  Easterly  Park,  Herts, 
was  member  of  Parliament  for  a  Conservative 
borough  which  had  survived  all  the  changes  and  up- 
heavals of  the  Gladstonian  epoch.  Sir  Thomas  him- 
self had  in  his  youth  been  numbered  among  that 
group  known  as  "Dizzy's  young  men" ;  he  could  look 
back  upon  actual  strolls  with  the  Tory  chieftain  down 
St.  James's  street  or  along  Pall  Mall — and  he  could 
remember  occasions  when  a  walk  through  the  Green 
Park  with  "Monty"  Corry,  marked  the  turning  point 
in  a  man's  political  career.  The  traditions  and  ideas 
born  of  such  beginnings  had  crystallized  and  stood 
firm  within  him  against  all  the  shocks  caused  by  the 
Liberal  uprising  and  its  successes.  Dazzling  as  these 
had  been,  they  had  never  tempted  him  to  widen  his 
bounds,  although  he  realized  that  the  broadest  Tory 
of  his  youth  could  not  hope  to  reach  the  limits  set  by 
the  narrowest  Unionist  of  his  middle  age.  Politics 
are  as  much  an  affair  of  temperament  as  of  convic- 
tion, and  Sir  Thomas  Easterly's  temperament  was 
eminently  conservative.  He  looked  just  what  he  was, 
a  healthy,  out-of-doors  man ;  a  sound,  safe  man  what- 
ever his  party,  with  the  steadfast  eye  and  deliberate 
speech  which  served  to  free  him  from  any  undesir- 
able imputation  of  brilliancy. 

The  time  was  to  come  when  Englishmen  of  his 
generation  were  to  look  back  upon  life  as  they  had 
lived  it  in  their  youth,  with  an  amazement  which 
bore  with  it  moments  of  positive  revelation.  The 
security,  the  fullness,  the  honour  of  the  Victorian  age, 
wore  to  their  minds  that  pleasant  aspect  which  a  safe 
harbor,  shining  in  sunlight,  wears  to  the  captain  of 

43 


44       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

a  ship  whose  every  anchor  is  dragging  in  the  storm. 
Many  of  them  may  have  felt  that  it  was  to  their 
own  or  their  father's  unconscious  actions  they  owed 
it  that  cables  were  rusty  and  anchors  inadequate  when 
the  gale  broke,  but  this  Thomas  Easterly  personally, 
could  not  feel.  He  and  his  were  sprung  from  the 
soil,  they  were  a  part  and  parcel  of  things  as  they  are. 
His  grandfather,  even  in  bad  years,  had  made  the 
Easterly  Estate  pay.  His  father  had  been  a  pillar 
of  the  Squirearchy;  and  Sir  Thomas,  if  too  busy  a 
politician  to  be  prominent  as  a  sportsman,  yet  had 
done  all  which  could  be  done,  in  that  connection,  by 
marrying  a  wife  from  the  same  county,  and  bringing 
up  his  family  in  the  country.  The  Easterly  boys 
were  to  be  seen  on  their  ponies  almost  as  soon  as  they 
were  out  of  their  perambulators ;  and  the  family  cir- 
cumstances partook  of  that  large  ease  and  com- 
fortable outdoor  activity  which  was  still  to  be  en- 
joyed by  the  English  gentleman  in  the  latter  quarter 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  Life,  to  the  Easterlys, 
had  presented  itself  in  an  unbroken  series  of  small 
successes ;  it  had  so  far — could  they  but  have  realized 
it, — far  more  satisfaction  and  far  fewer  contentions 
than  was  general  even  then — and  it  all  took  place 
tranquilly,  comfortably  according  to  tradition  and 
behind  high  walls.  At  the  outbreak  of  the  War 
the  head  of  the  family  was  in  his  sixtieth  year, 
a  large,  fresh-coloured  solid,  serious  man  with  an  im- 
movable face  and  grey  hair.  His  wife  was  large  too, 
full-bosomed  and  deep-voiced,  with  a  straight  back, 
placid  eyes,  a  steady  mouth,  and  hair  dressed  a  la 
reine  Alexandra. 

The  troubled  Parliamentary  session  of  May-July 
1914  kept  Sir  Thomas  in  London,  where  his  strong 
Unionist  influence  made  him  exceedingly  busy,  so 
that  his  family  lamented  loudly  when  he  could  not 
manage  to  get  down  to  them  in  the  country  for  even  a 


NEW  TRAILS  45 

week-end.  The  Irish  situation,  however,  created  by 
"obtuse  blindness"  as  Mr.  Balfour  put  it,  had  sud- 
denly revealed  such  an  acute  weakness  in  the  Govern- 
ment, such  a  chaos  of  conflicting  parties,  that  any 
sensible  and  steady  man  found  himself  both  alarmed 
and  confused.  But  the  alarm  and  confusion  of  mid- 
July  respecting  Ireland,  deepened  suddenly  into 
horror  and  bewilderment  respecting  the  Empire  it- 
self, when  the  tragic  developments  of  the  last  week 
swept  all  party  politics  off  the  stage. 

No  man  had  a  deeper  seriousness  regarding  the 
situation  on  August  first,  than  Thomas  Easterly,  and 
this  seriousness  joined  as  it  was  to  firmness,  with- 
stood ministerial  vacillations  and  brought  him  an 
accumulation  of  responsibilities,  as  such  qualities 
were  bound  to  do.  The  tenth  of  August  found  him 
Chairman  of  several  important  Committees;  he 
seemed  a  rock  which  supported  not  only  the  more 
nervous  elements  in  his  own  party,  but  notable 
Liberals  as  well.  The  crisis  undoubtedly  called  for 
individuals  of  his  stamp — of  that  class  which  was  less 
suggestible  and  less  susceptible  to  panic  than  were 
the  more  flexible  and  excitable  politicians  who  had 
come  to  the  fore  during  the  Liberal  regime.  A  re- 
crudescence of  large,  stolid,  elderly  Englishmen  was 
to  be  seen  in  high  places — whence  they  had  been 
conspicuously  absent  and  they  formed  in  politics — 
these  old  Contemptibles,  a  bulwark  against  which 
weakness  strengthened  itself  and  terror  gave  way  to 
steadfastness. 

This  was  a  heavy  task  but  there  was  more.  The 
three  Easterly  boys  were  all  in  London,  clamoring  at 
the  door  of  the  War  Office,  and  composing  frantic 
epistles  on  which  their  father  must  immediately  give 
his  advice.  They  ran  in  and  they  ran  out  and  they 
shouted  each  other  down  on  the  hearth  rug  with  all 
the  energy  of  their  youth.  So  little  time  seemed  to 


46        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

be  left  for  any  real  discussion  of  their  various  abili- 
ties and  suitabilities.  Middleton  was  for  the  Artil- 
lery, and  Tom  had  already  joined  his  regiment  by 
virtue  of  his  work  as  a  Territorial.  Hugh,  the 
youngest  and  in  his  second  year  at  Oxford,  must 
needs  go  in  for  this  new-fangled  flying  business — a 
very  doubtful  and  risky  branch  of  the  service,  his 
father  thought, — but  there  was  no  time  to  consider 
the  pros  and  cons  of  the  matter  with  the  impatient 
lad.  Sir  Thomas,  as  he  sat  there  noting  as  never 
before,  their  keen  faces,  straight  limbs  and  bright 
eyes  flashing  now  with  excitement, — dully  wondered 
why  it  was  that  not  one  of  the  three  had  ever  even 
remotely  considered  the  Army  as  a  career.  Tom 
cared  about  nothing  but  the  country  life  and  had 
already  acted  as  his  father's  agent.  The  Bar,  with 
politics  as  a  future,  had  been  Middleton's  intention 
ever  since  he  left  Eton — whereas  Hughie — well, 
Hughie  was  artistic  and  spent  a  good  deal  too  much 
time  and  money,  in  his  family's  opinion,  on  very 
modern  verse  and  his  violin.  And  to  hear  him  now! 

Ten  days  later,  Sir  Thomas  in  his  large,  dignified 
limousine,  drew  up  at  the  door  of  Easterly  Park, 
which  was  opened  to  him  in  a  manner  of  respectful 
concentration  by  Smith,  his  butler.  Sir  Thomas 
alighted,  heavily  and  wearily,  and  entered  his  own 
house.  He  was  not  imaginative,  but  he  did  remember 
having  left  it,  some  weeks  before,  seriously  worried 
about  the  state  of  Ulster !  .  .  . 

He  stood  still,  looking  about  him  and  Smith  ad- 
vanced to  take  his  coat.  Smith  was  Smith,  and  Sir 
Thomas  was  Sir  Thomas,  but  their  eyes,  meeting  at 
that  instant  in  a  long  look,  were  the  eyes  of  two  Eng- 
lishmen who  were  friends. 

"James  'ave  left  to  join  up,  Sir  Thomas,"  Smith 
observed  in  a  low  confidential  voice;  (James  was  the 


NEW  TRAILS  47 

gamekeeper  and  his  son)  "and  so  'as  William,  so  we 
are  a  bit  short  'anded  at  present." 

His  master  digested  this  information  in  silence, 
with  a  nod  of  approbation. 

"And  in  the  village?" 

"Several  of  the  lads  are  off  already,  Sir  Thomas. 
Old  Parkin  and  Dewey  'ave  been  up  to  talk  with 
you  about  their  sons.  I  think  old  Dewey  is  outside 
now,  Sir  Thomas,  'earing  you  was  expected." 

"I  will  talk  to  him  later." 

"Very  good,  Sir  Thomas.  Her  Ladyship  is  in  the 
morning-room." 

His  master  nodded  again.  As  he  passed  the  draw- 
ing-room door,  he  noticed  in  a  strange  sort  of  way 
which  yet  held  no  surprise,  that  the  furniture  was 
in  Holland  covers  instead  of  its  bright  colors,  that 
the  carpet  was  rolled  back  and  the  centre  of  the 
room  occupied  by  a  long  table  at  which  stood  his 
daughter  Jane,  wearing  an  apron,  and  armed  with 
a  pair  of  shears.  Sir  Thomas  mounted  the  stairs 
with  these  and  other  changes  in  mind,  yet  taking 
pleasure  as  he  never  failed  to  do,  in  the  fresh  order- 
liness of  his  home,  in  the  flowers  and  the  silver  and 
the  mauve  and  white  chintz  of  his  wife's  favorite 
room.  After  the  tension,  the  pain  of  this  last  fort- 
night he  felt  it  anew  as  a  refreshment  and  longed 
suddenly  for  her  presence  as  part  of  it  all. 

Lady  Easterly's  life  had  held  so  far  few  disap- 
pointments, but  had  flowed  evenly  on  the  full  tide 
of  affection,  respect  and  ample  means.  Her  sons 
and  their  career;  Middleton's  tendency  to  shirk  re- 
sponsibility, Tom's  delicacy  in  boyhood,  Hugh's 
vacillation  between  verse  and  violin,  had  been  only 
ripples  on  this  current.  Janey — like  many  English 
girls,  presented  no  problems;  she  was  no  beauty,  but 
she  had  rosy  cheeks  and  a  docile  manner  and  craved 
neither  the  vote  nor  the  tango.  Really,  it  was 


48       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

rather  absurd,  at  least  her  brother  Hugh  thought, 
how  little  Janey  coveted  a  latch-key  in  Chelsea  or 
a  studio  in  Hampstead — she  was  entirely  vieux 
jeu.  She  suited  her  mother,  needless  to  say,  ex- 
tremely well.  Sir  Thomas's  political  career  had 
not  required  of  his  wife  any  higher  degree  of 
energy  or  intelligence  than  she  possessed  by  nature. 
Lady  Easterly  was  hospitable,  but  their  dinner-par- 
ties had  no  need  to  be  sparkling  and  her  husband 
had  never  expected  her  to  act  as  a  party  hostess. 
She  fitted  in;  and  that  was  about  all  that  could  be 
said,  except  by  those  who  loved  her — that  is,  she 
had  fitted  in  up  to  the  present,  and  her  husband  per- 
sonally never  doubted  the  future  for  an  instant  or 
that  her  serene  middle-age  had  reserves  both  of  stead- 
fastness and  strength.  It  is  doubtful  if  he  had  ever 
more  sincerely  admired  her, — even  during  her  slim 
girlhood — than  he  did  this  afternoon  as  she  rose 
from  her  desk  to  greet  him,  her  mouth  smiling  below 
her  darkened,  anxious  eyes. 

"My  dear!"  was  all  he  said  for  the  moment  as 
he  held  her  hand  "My  dear!" 

"I  got  Hugh's  telegram  an  hour  ago,"  she  began 
in  her  deep,  untouched  voice.  "Of  course,  I  quite 
expected  it — and  nothing  would  have  kept  me  from 
running  up  to  town  again,  as  you  know,  only  he  did 
not  seem  to  know  exactly  where  he  would  be.  Then 
the  village  people  kept  coming  to  talk  it  over,  and 
many  of  the  women  were  dreadfully  upset.  Janey 
and  I  got  up  a  work-party  at  once  and  I  went  in 
this  morning  to  St.  Albans  for  the  materials  so  we 
can  start  tomorrow.  It  will  steady  them  down — it 
is  the  only  way.  You  saw  Hugh?" 

"Only  for  a  moment:  he  was  very  much  excited. 
He  will  be  sent  to  a  place  to  train  first,  of  course. 
I  confess,  Ada,  it  bothers  me — I  have  no  such  con- 
fidence in  this  air  business,  as  he  seems  to  have." 


NEW  TRAILS  49 

"I  know." 

"Middleton  sent  love  to  Janey  and  you.  There 
was  no  time  to  write  before  the  battery  left  for 
France — just  when,  I  don't  know." 

"And  Tom?" 

"There  was  some  medical  question,  I  believe,  but 
Menzies  saw  to  it  and  he  came  through  all  right.  He 
was  much  less  excited  than  the  others  so  far  as  I 
can  see.  But  then,  I've  had  so  little  time.  The 
muddle  has  been  tremendous,  dear,  even  worse  than 
I  feared  and  you  know  just  how  I  felt  after  those 
fellows  resigned.  Whigs  never  have  known  the 
first  thing  about  war." 

"But  do  we  either — about  this  kind  of  war?  I 
doubt  it.  .  .  .  Have  you  seen  Adrian?" 

Sir  Thomas  had  lowered  himself  comfortably  in- 
to the  armchair  which  best  fitted  his  large  frame 
and  already  his  face  began  to  relax  its  strained  lines. 
He  laid  his  head  back  and  his  eyes  happily  rested  on 
his  wife  as  he  answered  her  question. 

"Yes,  I  dined  with  him  last  night  and  went  on 
to  the  House.  We  had  a  long  talk;  I  cannot  say  a 
reassuring  one.  You  know  Adrian's  Olympian  way; 
but  even  his  judgment,  which  surveys  things  from 
so  high  up,  is  not  satisfied  with  them." 

"He  surely  does  not  doubt  that  we  shall  win?" 

"Ultimately,  no :  we  must.  But  who  can  trust  this 
crew,  Ada?  Even  Adrian  though  he  claims  to  be 
Liberal  has  no  real  confidence  in  their  ability  to  put 
the  right  men  at  the  head.  Haldane  is  a  brilliant 
fellow,  but  imagine  considering  him  even  for  a  mo- 
ment as  Minister  of  War!  Adrian  simply  went  to 
the  Palace,  and  made  the  little  man  insist." 

"And  Adrian  himself?" 

"Later,  if  there's  a  Coalition,  he  thinks  he  is  fairly 
sure  of  being  asked  to  join  the  Cabinet." 


50        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

"She  will  love  that,  won't  she?  How  we  shall 
all  suffer!" 

"She  won't  matter  as  much  as  usual.  And  Adrian 
is  wonderful.  The  only  thing  is — he  works  best, 
unhampered  by  the  public  eye — so  he  may  not  ac- 
cept after  all." 

"Surely  that  would  be  a  great  mistake,"  said  Lady 
Easterly  with  conviction. 

"Not  if  he  can  accomplish  more.  And  in  this 
present  muddle. 

"Is  it  so  very  bad?"  Ada  Easterly  touched  the 
bell,  turning  her  face  eagerly  toward  her  husband, 
while  he  talked  as  a  man  talks  who  has  seen  things 
go  wrong  and  yet  kept  silence.  Then  tea  came  in  and 
Janey  ran  upstairs  to  give  her  father  a  kiss  and  tell 
him  what  the  villagers  said  and  thought  about  it  all. 
Sir  Thomas  felt  comforted  by  these  sweet  habitual 
things,  as  he  drank  his  tea.  They  spoke  about  the 
boys  and  asked  him  questions  and  during  the  pauses 
he  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  the  absence  of  the 
drawing-room  carpet  and  of  William  and  James  were 
due  to  natural  causes. 

Odd  how  the  tension  affected  one!  Sir  Thomas 
found  himself  noticing  for  the  first  time  that  Janey 
had  inherited  her  mother's  tranquil  blue  eyes  and 
also  finding  himself  suddenly  very  glad  indeed  that 
there  was  a  girl.  This  was  not  due  to  sentiment 
merely;  but  when  one  recalled  the  three  boys  tramp- 
ing about  the  dining-room  at  Charles  Street  and 
pouring  out  thir  plans  in  a  stream  of  eager  talk — 
why,  one  was  glad  of  Janey,  that  was  all.  That 
chill  contraction  of  the  heart — which  he  must  not 
mention  to  his  wife — grew  less  because  Janey  was 
there. 


CHAPTER  VII 

DURING  those  few  days  at  home,  Sir  Thomas 
found  himself  better  able  to  visualize  the  situation 
than  he  had  been  in  the  chaos  of  town.  His  doubts 
and  fears  also  began  to  take  definite  form.  Not  that 
he  had  for  one  instant  doubted  the  necessity  for 
War;  but  in  his  slow  way,  he  had  a  certain  foresight, 
and  he  was  wholly  at  variance  with  his  colleagues 
who  thought  the  whole  business  was  going  to  be  all 
over  in  a  few  weeks.  The  Government's  unwilling- 
ness to  face  conscription  was  not  excused  to  his  mind 
by  the  flood  of  recruits  which  so  stimulated  the  pub- 
lic during  those  first  months;  and  the  posters  which 
met  his  eye  everywhere  he  turned  were  a  poor  sub- 
stitute for  firmness.  He  saw  the  departure  of  his 
own  and  his  friends'  sons  with  a  misgiving  which 
no  confidence  in  the  War  Office  could  lessen;  and, 
the  graver  grew  the  news,  the  stiffer  became  his  de- 
termination and  the  deeper  his  sense  of  national  in- 
adequacy. 

"it's  going  to  be  the  hardest  pull  we've  ever  had," 
was  his  prophesy. 

For  the  Easterly  family,  it  was  a  very  hard  pull 
indeed.  Tom  was  killed  at  the  very  end  of  the 
Marne  battle;  and  two  months  later  the  news  came, 
— in  the  same  week — of  Middleton's  wound  and  of 
the  accident  to  Hugh.  The  elder  son's  case  turned 
out  to  be  unimportant;  he  was  back  after  awhile  on 
sick  leave,  looking  pallid  and  different  somehow, 
and  very  bitter  against  the  way  things  were  being 

51 


52       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

run  by  his  superiors.  But  Hugh's  injury  was  an- 
other matter.  He  had  fallen  in  his  machine  at  Dun- 
kirk; his  head  was  badly  cut  with  severe  concussion, 
and  there  were  doubts  about  the  spine.  .  .  .  For 
weeks  it  seemed  impossible  that  he  should  live  .  .  . 
and  then  weeks  in  which  one  could  only  hope  that 
he  might  not. 

It  was  in  November  that  he  was  brought  to  Sis- 
ter Lucy's  hospital  on  Great  Stanhope  Street — a 
limp,  wasted  rag  of  youth  in  whose  eyes  was  no  de- 
sire of  life. 

Sydney  Lea,  seated  at  her  desk  in  the  offifce, 
marked  the  upright  figure  of  the  elderly  gentleman 
as  he  went  in  and  out  to  see  his  son.  She  had  heard 
about  the  case  from  Sister  Lucy;  told  in  those  stac- 
cato sentences  and  with  that  wry  twist  of  cynical 
mouth  that  was  Sister  Lucy's  way.  Sydney  made 
it  a  point  to  leave  a  bunch  of  late  violets  on  the 
boy's  pillow  and  ask  him  how  he  felt.  The  unfami- 
liar intonation  had  brought  his  gaze  to  her  face  for 
a  second  with  a  faint  gleam  of  interest  which  yet  died 
out  in  a  moan.  On  that  very  bad  afternoon  when 
it  semed  for  a  time  as  if  he  were  lapsing  into  a 
last  unconsciousness,  Sir  Thomas  felt  suddenly,  on 
the  stairs,  too  tired  to  leave  the  hospital.  He  turned 
aside  mechanically  into  the  office,  sought  the  chair 
that  stood  there  by  the  hearth,  fell  into  it,  wiped 
his  forehead  and  stared  into  the  fire.  The  silence 
which  he  carried  with  him  told  far  more  than  any 
words  and  caused  Sydney  to  glance  at  him  in  compas- 
sion. What  she  saw  took  her  out  of  the  room  for  a 
few  minutes;  and  when  he  became  aware  of  her  re- 
turn, she  was  standing  before  him,  a  cup  of  tea  in  her 
hand. 

"You  must  be  very  tired,"  she  said,  in  a  matter-of- 
fact  voice;  "won't  you  have  this?" 


NEW  TRAILS  53 

The  tea  was  just  what  Sir  Thomas  needed  and 
he  was  grateful,  thanking  her  in  his  correct,  see-saw 
intonation,  in  which  was  no  trace  of  any  emotion. 
As  he  drank  it,  he  glanced  about  him  at  the  business- 
like orderliness  of  the  room,  at  the  typewriter 
and  the  files,  at  the  precision  and  quickness  in  the 
movements  of  the  girl  at  the  desk.  She  was  here; 
she  was  there ;  she  was  answering  the  telephone ;  she 
was  speaking  to  Sister  Lucy  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
she  was  checking  hot-water  bags  or  surgical  bandages 
or  writing  receipts  for  them — and  all  this  without 
bustle  or  asking  questions.  Sir  Thomas  had  seen 
something  lately  of  Government  offices  and  he  mar- 
velled. There  was  something  unfamiliar  about  the 
slender  alertness  of  her  figure;  the  face  with  the 
dark  and  intense  eyes,  the  narrow  hand,  and  the 
tasteful  plainness  of  her  dress. 

"You  are  surely  not  English?"  he  asked  her  sud- 
denly and  Sydney  told  him  her  story. 

"Well,  well !"  remarked  Sir  Thomas,  "and  so  you 
are  staying  on  to  help  us — very  gratifying,  I  call  it, 
and  I  hope  it  means  that  your  country  in  general 
feels  the  same  way." 

"I  am  sure  it  does !"  she  cried  loyally,  but  yet  she 
was  not  sure. 

"It  would  make  such  a  difference  to  us  if  we  felt 
that — but  of  course  you  have  a  great  problem  in  your 
foreign  population"  continued  Sir  Thomas,  largely 
because  it  rested  him  to  take  his  mind  from  the  boy 
upstairs.  Just  then  an  enquiry  came  over  the  tele- 
phone and  Sydney  was  at  her  files  and  back  again 
to  answer  it — in  less  than  no  time.  So  he  asked  her 
about  her  method  setting  down  his  tea-cup,  and 
Sydney  felt  inclined  to  laugh  when  she  saw  how  her 
answers  amazed  him. 

"All  that  you  were  taught  in  the  States — ?    How 


54        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

very  remarkable ! — We  have  certainly  much  to  learn 
from  you  there,"  observed  Sir  Thomas,  thinking  of 
the  slow  muddle  in  which  his  Oxford-bred  secretary 
had  involved  his  affairs.  He  bade  Sydney  a  formal, 
grateful  farewell  and  went  out  into  the  fog — and 
she  knew  that  he  was  wondering  if  the  boy  would 
be  alive  when  next  he  returned.  He  had  not  men- 
tioned where  he  lived,  of  course;  but  directories  are 
plenty,  and  when  the  surgeon  came  later  that  eve- 
ning and  seemed  to  feel  a  shade  more  hopeful,  Sydney 
took  it  upon  herself  to  telephone  the  encouragement 
to  Charles  Street.  The  fresh  girl  voice  that  replied 
to  her  seemed  so  relieved;  and  hoped  "Dad  and 
Mum  would  get  some  sleep  tonight,"  and  Sydney 
was  more  than  glad  she  had  thought  of  it. 

These  and  similar  incidents  filled  her  days  and 
often  kept  her  at  work  long  after  hours.  The 
women  who  did  the  actual  nursing  were  far  too  oc- 
cupied to  answer  telephone  enquiries;  perhaps  it  was 
but  natural  that  they  should  come  to  regard  the 
patients'  relatives  as  a  whole  in  the  light  of  an  un- 
necessary interruption.  Miss  Lea,  having  made  this 
her  task,  through  it  probably  learned  more  about  the 
English  temperament  than  she  could  have  acquired  in 
any  other  way.  Particularly  she  learned  not  to  expect 
any  changes  of  expression  in  the  faces  or  voices  of 
these  suffering,  frightened  people  trained  to  wooden- 
ness. 

Hugh  Easterly  had  rallied  a  little  in  a  day  or 
two,  and  his  father  stopped  by  the  desk  in  the  office 
with  a  stately  word  of  thanks  for  Sydney's  con- 
siderate message.  He  asked  her  a  few  questions  and 
their  conversation  freshly  surprised  him.  He  did 
not  look  for  so  quick  an  understanding  in  a  person 
holding  such  a  position  and  he  returned  home  medi- 
tating on  the  changes  in  the  world. 


NEW  TRAILS  55 

"You  seem  to  be  rather  fortunate  in  that  Amer- 
ican young  lady,"  he  observed  to  Sister  Lucy,  on 
his  way  out. 

"Miss  Lea?  Why,  we  simply  couldn't  carry  on 
without  Miss  Lea!"  was  her  answer,  which  the 
more  impressed  Sir  Thomas,  as  Sister  Lucy  at  no 
time  was  given  to  enthusiasm. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  one  of  the  pleasantest  streets  of  Mayfair, 
there  is  a  front  door  which  has  lost  its  house.  Lon- 
don is  full  of  houses  which  have  lost  their  streets 
and  cannot  make  up  their  minds  whether  they  really 
belong  to  Bedford  Gate  or  to  Pelham  Terrace. 
There  are  streets  whose  houses  have  deliberately 
strayed  around  the  corner;  and  there  are  streets 
so  old  that  they  have  forgotten  their  own  names 
after  a  square  or  so.  Not  far  from  a  great  Railway 
Terminal,  for  example,  there  stands  a  row  of  man- 
sions proclaiming  themselves  on  a  black  and  white 
signboard  as  belonging,  let  us  say,  to  Brant  Place; 
while  a  similar  row  exactly  opposite  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street,  quite  as  firmly  announces  that  its 
address  is  Sussex  Gardens ! 

The  front  door  we  have  just  noted,  in  all  the 
glory  of  its  white  paint  and  its  brass  knocker,  has  a 
reckless  air  of  being  off  on  a  jaunt  of  its  own.  Pas- 
sers-by, on  a  foggy  afternoon  when  the  lights  are 
lit,  can  see  how  the  drawing-room  of  No.  20  extends 
over  it  to  meet  the  drawing-room  of  No.  22,  leaving 
No.  21,  as  it  were,  without  any  raison  d'etre.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  this  lonely  doorway  is  a  hundred 
years  old  and  dates  back  to  a  little  incident  before 
the  battle  of  Waterloo.  It  is  concerned  with  a 
young  couple,  poor,  but  highly  connected,  who  went 
off  together  to  make  their  fortune  in  the  golden 
East.  A  son  came  to  them,  and  following  the  cus- 
tom even  then,  they  wept  over  him  and  packed  him 
back  to  English  air  with  an  ayah  in  a  sailing-ship, 
to  the  care  of  a  gentle,  middle-aged  cousin  who  might 
have  been  (but  wasn't,)  Miss  Martha  Honeyman. 

56 


NEW  TRAILS  57 

In  a  year  or  two,  the  East  had  claimed  them  and 
they  never  saw  the  boy  again.  By  this  time,  through 
a  series  of  chances,  he  had  become  a  rather  important 
boy,  although  he  clung  the  more  closely  to  that  kind 
adopted  mother,  that  retired  elderly  lady  with  whom 
he  spent  the  holidays.  Years  came  and  he  grew  from 
a  rather  important  boy  into  a  very  important  youth 
indeed,  and  in  due  time  came  into  a  title  and  a  rent- 
roll,  of  all  of  which  his  father  had  never  more  than 
dreamed.  Among  his  new  acquisitions  was  a  fine, 
four-square,  Georgian  town-house  having  at  the  back 
a  garden  in  the  good  old  Mayfair  way.  And  be- 
cause he  was  an  affectionate  boy,  he  built  a  little 
house  back  of  his  garden,  running  its  front-door,  by 
means  of  a  tunnel,  out  beside  his  own;  and  put  the 
dear  old  lady  into  it  that  they  might  be  near  to- 
gether. So  here,  in  great  content,  she  lived  and  died. 
Such  was  the  story  of  her  own  great-grandfather 
and  his  affection  for  his  old  relative,  which  Miss  Vio- 
land  told  to  Sydney  Lea  on  the  autumn  afternoon 
when  the  girl  went  first,  a  little  diffidently,  to  seek 
out  her  English  acquaintance.  She  was  conducted 
along  the  panelled  tunnel,  hung  with  old  prints,  by 
a  large,  fair,  solemn,  elderly  person  in  a  cap  and  a 
tight-waisted  stuff  dress,  of  a  cut  she  had  never  be- 
fore seen.  A  small,  square  hall  opened  out  before 
them,  wherein  tapestry  hangings,  rich  in  color  and 
old  brasses  polished  into  mirror  brightness,  reflected 
the  glow  of  the  red-firelight.  The  newel-posts  of 
the  steep,  twisting  staircase  were  enriched  with  fine 
carvings:  there  was  a  lacquered  cabinet,  which 
would  have  made  an  antiquary's  mouth  water.  Syd- 
ney only  felt  that  it  lent  the  little  place  the  dignity 
of  an  audience  chamber.  The  drawing-room  whose 
windows  still  looked  upon  the  Baronet's  garden,  was 
panelled  too  in  a  fine  stately  design ;  and  was  carpeted 
and  curtained  and  hung  in  a  certain  shade  of  wonder- 


58        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

ful  deep  blue  only  to  be  found  nowadays  in  older 
houses. 

Miss  Violand  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  in  front  of 
her  laden  tea-table,  and  Sydney  noticed  that  she 
wore  just  the  same  black  silk  dress  with  little  ruffles, 
and  lengths  of  gold  chain  twisted  around  her  neck — 
as  she  had  done  on  their  first  meeting.  Otherwise 
she  looked  shrunken  and  aged,  and  her  misty,  blue 
eyes  were  anxious.  She  kissed  the  girl  gently. 

"So  you  are  staying  here  to  help  us,"  she  said. 
"My  dear  child,  how  splendid  of  you !" 

They  had  a  long  talk  over  their  tea — which  was 
quite  the  most  substantial  meal  Sydney  had  seen  in 
England  and  included  eggs,  five  sorts  of  bread,  and 
cake,  and  three  kinds  of  jam.  It  was  brought  in  and 
offered  and  taken  out  by  the  solid  person,  who  gave 
her  opinion  freely  when  asked,  and  was  plaintively 
addressed  by  her  mistress — to  Sydney's  vast  amuse- 
ment— by  the  name  of  Giddy.  Giddy  arranged  mat- 
ters according  to  an  immemorial  ritual  which  included 
placing  muffins  on  the  hearth  until  an  exact  moment 
in  the  ceremony  had  been  reached,  when  she  made 
Sydney  eat  them.  Giddy  also  studied  the  guest  and 
did  not  leave  the  room,  until  she  had  been,  in  a  man- 
ner, introduced.  When  Miss  Violand  observed: 
"This  young  lady,  Giddy,  is  from  the  States."  Giddy 
replied  "You  don't  say  so,  m'  !"  and  regarded  the 
outlander  with  unaffected  interest. 

Miss  Violand  wished  to  hear  all  about  the  hospital 
and  Sydney  Lea  had  the  gift  of  vivid  speech,  so  that 
she  made  a  veritable  picture  of  the  place  and  its  in- 
mates, the  ignorant  lady-aids  in  their  pearls  and  high 
heels,  the  brave  boy-patients,  and  all  the  rest.  Miss 
Violand  had  heard  of  Sister  Lucy:  "A  fine  woman,  I 
am  sure,"  she  said,  "if  not  quite  a  Florence  Nightin- 
gale." 

She  asked  minutely  about  Sydney's  way  of  living, 


NEW  TRAILS  59 

and  shook  her  head  over  the  lodging-house  in  Blooms- 
bury,  adding  vaguely  that  "of  course  I  really  do  not 
know  anything  about  such  places."  But  she  was 
greatly  startled,  terrified  even,  when  Sydney  went  on 
to  say,  very  calmly,  that  she  did  not  believe  she  could 
possibly  afford  to  work  all  winter  at  the  hospital  for 
nothing. 

"Oh  my  dear,  you  must  not!"  she  cried,  "beggar 
yourself  to  help  us — that  would  never  do!" 

Sydney  replied  that  she  supposed  they  would  pay 
her  something  when  she  asked  them;  and  her  confident 
manner  caused  the  vague  blue  eyes  of  the  elder 
woman  to  rest  on  her  with  wistful  amazement.  The 
girl  seemed  to  carry  with  her  such  a  fine  resiliency  and 
courage  that  it  brought  Miss  Violand  a  breath  of 
that  outer  air  of  youthful  effort  which  was  begin- 
ning to  blow  through  the  world. 

Sydney  went  back  to  her  dingy  room  with  a  warm 
and  renewed  sense  of  home  and  thereafter  she  drop- 
ped in  often  at  the  little,  tucked-away  house  in  May- 
fair.  She  came  to  tell  Miss  Violand  the  result  of 
her  talk  with  Sister  Lucy,  which  had  been  entirely 
frank.  Expenses  were  mounting  up  and  moreover 
Mr.  Hansell's  letters  from  home  had  been  strongly 
marked  with  disapproval.  Sydney  must  be  earning  a 
little  or  she  could  not  stay  on,  and  she  did  want  to 
stay  on.  Sister  Lucy  could  not  hesitate,  she  knew 
that  she  could  never  hope  to  replace  Miss  Lea.  So 
it  was  arranged  she  was  to  keep  her  position  for  the 
present  at  a  salary  of  three  pounds  a  week — for 
which  she  was  to  assume  longer  hours  and  heavier 
responsibilities  than  arc  generally  attached  to  such  a 
post. 

All  during  October  and  November  the  excitement 
about  the  Belgian  refugees  was  at  its  height.  Eng- 
lish people  who  had  all  their  lives  dwelt  behind  nine 
foot  walls  with  glass  on  the  top,  suddenly  felt  com- 


60       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

pelled  to  open  their  hearts  and  houses  to  the  riff-raff 
of  Brussels,  with  the  most  unforeseen  results.  Even 
Miss  Violand  could  not  escape  the  appeal  and  tor- 
tured herself  about  her  duty  toward  these  unfortu- 
nates until  she  could  hardly  sleep  at  night.  But  as 
weeks  went  by,  the  money  situation,  followed  by  the 
rise  in  prices  and  taxes,  so  much  diminished  her  small 
income  that  she  began  to  wonder  whether  she  and 
Giddy  could  go  on  living  behind  the  lost  front-door. 
As  for  a  Belgian  family — that  was  clearly  impossible. 
She  talked  about  it  a  great  deal,  though,  and  very 
regretfully,  at  the  work-party  she  attended  in  St. 
James  Palace;  and  she  talked  there  also  about  her 
young  American  friend,  "such  a  wonderful  child!" 
living  and  working  so  courageously  in  a  strange 
country. 

"Why  don't  you  take  her  in  with  you?"  suggested, 
with  her  usual  bluntness,  the  red-faced  Countess  of 
Welden.  "It  seems  to  me  that  would  be  a  great  deal 
more  to  the  point  than  the  Belgian  family  you  arc 
thinking  about — for  you,  I  mean." 

"I  had  not  even  thought  of  such  a  thing,"  Miss 
Violand  replied,  truthfully. 

"Well,  if  I  were  you,  I  should  think  of  it,"  Lady 
Welden  paused  by  the  table,  gathering  the  big  roll  of 
gauze  into  her  arms.  "If  the  girl  is  working  for  us, 
it's  very  sporting  of  her.  We  ought  to  do  all  we  can, 
y'know  to  keep  the  Americans  in  with  us.  Welden 
says  it  may  make  all  the  difference  .  .  ."  and  she 
turned  away,  her  arms  laden,  and  the  scissors  clank- 
ing by  her  side. 

Miss  Violand  went  home  in  a  state  of  inward  ex- 
citement and  broached  the  matter  to  Giddy.  There 
were  few  things  she  did  not  discuss  with  Giddy,  since 
they  had  both  been  young  and  slim,  thirty  years  ago. 
Giddy  had  been  dead  set  against  the  idea  of  a  Bel- 
gian family  "a  jabbering  lot  of  none-knows-who, 


NEW  TRAILS  61 

if  I  may  say  so — ;"  but  she  had  been  favorably  im- 
pressed with  Sydney  Lea,  whom  she  thought  "sweetly 
pretty"  and  "quite  the  lady."  She  regarded  the  whole 
proposition  in  the  light  of  an  eccentricity  of  her  mis- 
tress, born  of  all  this  "unsettlement,"  but  still,  if 
Miss  Helen  really  must  harbor  a  foreigner  like  the 
rest  of  the  gentry — it  had  better  be  a  foreigner 
whose  language  one  could  understand.  "And  besides, 
Colonials,  they  belong  to  us,  like,"  was  the  form  in 
which  she  gave  her  final  consent. 

Miss  Violand,  thereupon,  sent  for  Sydney.  Her 
manner  was  impressive,  never  had  a  Violand  even 
remotely  contemplated  such  a  step;  but  these  were 
times  of  change.  She  felt  that  she  was  in  the  move- 
ment; and  it  cannot  be  denied  that  she  was  a  good 
deal  daunted  by  the  matter-of-fact  manner  in  which 
her  young  friend  received  her  suggestion.  Sydney 
was  certainly  both  grateful  and  pleased;  the  prospect 
of  living  behind  the  lost  front-door  delighted  her, 
but  there  was  nothing  in  the  least  startling  or  novel 
about  the  idea,  to  her  mind.  She  knew  lots  of  fami- 
lies in  New  England  who  found  some  such  arrange- 
ment convenient  and  pleasant,  and  Miss  Violand's 
solemnity  about  it  surprised  her.  She  was  completely 
firm,  however,  that  if  she  came  she  must  pay  her  way, 
and  she  made  her  reasons  so  strong  that  after  somr 
protest  Miss  Violand  yielded.  There  was  no  doubt 
that,  where  the  margin  was  such  a  narrow  one,  even 
this  little  sum  coming  in  every  week  made  a  differ- 
ence, and  gave  Miss  Violand  too,  another  attitude 
toward  life.  She  took  Lady  Welden  aside  at  the 
next  meeting  of  the  work-party,  to  narrate  with  all 
gravity  how  she  had  taken  her  advice;  and  she  was 
pleased  that  Lady  Welden  approved  and  thought  it 
"a  sensible  arrangement." 


CHAPTER  IX 

"On  dear  Bess,"  wrote  Sydney  to  Elizabeth,  "I 
am  now  all  moved  and  settled  into  the  funniest  little 
room  you  ever  saw.  My  window  has  a  glimpse  of 
garden  and  my  bath  room  is  a  tin  tub  and  a  can  of  hot 
water.  Giddy  brings  them  every  morning  and  tells 
me  that  the  weather  is  Very  stuffy'  ...  I  sleep 
in  a  single  four-posted  bed  with  red  curtains  and  my 
room  is  done  in  faded  blue  and  red  chintz  with  lovely 
poll-parrots  on  the  pattern.  The  whole  house  is 
filled  with  wonderful  old  furniture  and  china,  which 
is  kept  speckless  as  if  it  were  a  museum.  The  parlor 
—  (I  beg  its  pardon — drawing-room!)  is  crowded 
with  puffy  chairs  and  Battersea  boxes  and  Stafford- 
shire goats,  and  silver  polished  until  it  shines  .  .  . 
Miss  Violand  is  a  dear  and  so  anxious  to  like  'the 
States,'  and  so  are  her  friends — who  look  exactly 
like  her.  .  .  .  They  sit  around  at  tea  and  ask  me 
things  (when  I'm  there  which  isn't  often,)  and  they 
always  end  up  with  a  sigh  and  say:  'I  suppose  your 
German-American  population  would  rise  in  a  body 
and  massacre  everybody — if  you  were  to  come  in?' 
And  it  always  puzzles  them  because  I  laugh.  .  .  . 
Giddy  is  a  flawless  person,  she  is  a  real  experience. 
She  has  been  Miss  Violand' s  housekeeper  and  maid 
and  cook  for  years  and  years  and  she  always  calls 
the  King  and  Queen  'their  Majesties.'  Notwith- 
standing her  name,  she  is  solid  and  immovable  and 
perfectly  obstinate:  and  she  rules  Miss  Violand  with 
a  rod  of  iron.  She  is  very  bitter  against  the  Kaiser: 
'who  didn't  ought  to  have  had  the  notice  taken  of 
him  in  the  past — as  was  taken — if  I  may  say  so — 
by  her  late  Gracious  Majesty!'  She  approves  of 

62 


NEW  TRAILS  63 

me  because  I  am  working  for  'our  brave  soldiers;' 
but  also  I  worry  her  at  times  by  my  ways,  and  because 
I  don't  own  all  the  things  'which  young  ladies  should 
have  when  in  London,  if  I  may  say  so.'  I  always 
hear  from  Giddy  what  'we  do' ;  and  what  'isn't  done 
— leastways  in  London.'  We  do  wear  white  gloves  it 
appears:  (I  don't!)  and  we  don't  carry  packages: 
(I  do!) — but  then  much  is  forgiven  'Colonials;' 
which  she  persists  in  calling  me.  Giddy  doesn't  know 
a  word  of  American.  Yesterday  it  seemed  colder;  so 
I  asked  her  'What's  the  thermometer?'  and  she 
coughed  behind  her  hand  and  answered,  'I  believe 
Miss,  it  is  an  instrument  for  registering  heat  and 
cold!'  .  .  . 

"We  are  desperately  busy  at  the  hospital,  all  the 
beds  are  filled — but  the  telephone  works,  at  last, 
and  my  records  are  in  order. 

"The  volunteers  are  simply  too  ignorant  for  words ; 
and  the  doctors,  (or  so  it  strikes  me,)  are  rather 
more  pompous  and  self-important  than  ours  at  home. 
They  don't  like  to  explain  and  so  the  confusion  at 
times  is  dreadful.  I  don't  sec  how  Sister  Lucy  stands 
it:  but  I  begin  to  realize  that  if  the  English  had 
the  nerves  we  have,  they  would  have  rid  themselves 
of  their  muddling  habits  long  ago.  They  flourish 
in  a  chaos  which  would  send  an  American  into  an 
asylum.  They  seem  to  take  pride  in  their  lack  of 
system;  and  I  rage  because  the  boys  suffer  unneces- 
sarily. We've  had  one  case  here  for  weeks,  that  I 
wish  we  could  ship  home !  An  aeroplane  fall — caus- 
ing a  frightful  condition,  and  nobody  seems  to  be  able 
to  help  him.  Do  get  that  nice  nerve-specialist  cousin 
of  yours  to  send  me  over  some  books  or  suggestions. 
The  boy  suffers  terribly.  .  .  .  His  father  comes  to 
see  him  every  day — such  a  darling  old  person;  and 
somebody-or-other  in  Parliament,  I  believe.  Yes- 
terday I  thought  he  was  going  to  faint;  but  he  has 


64        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

that  wonderful  self-control  they  all  have  and  which 
so  often  seems  mere  stodginess.  He  has  lost  one  son 
already,  and  now  this  poor  boy  won't  see  his  mother 
and  sister  because  they  were  so  upset  at  his  suffering. 
The  father  just  comes  and  goes  with  that  immovable 
face:  only  on  very  bad  days  he  sits  awhile  in  the 
office  and  talks  a  little  with  me." 

Elizabeth  answered: 

"I  never  told  you  in  my  first  letters  what  a  dread- 
ful time  I  had  with  Mr.  Hansell,  my  dear.  He 
even  called  me  up  on  the  long-distance  telephone  to 
scold  me  for  not  bringing  you  home — as  if  I  could — ! 
He  raved  about  siege  and  starvation  and  horrors 
generally  until  I  felt  as  if  I  were  back  in  Geneva. 
You'll  have  to  smooth  him  down  somehow,  Syd,  or 
else  come  home :  I  can't  help  wishing  it  would  be  the 
latter.  There's  lots  of  work  here,  if  that's  what  you 
want,  you  quixotic  creature!  Everybody  is  doing 
some  war  work.  May  Palmer  has  gotten  up  a  class 
in  social  psychiatry  and  Julia  Teiners  has  taken  up 
occupational  therapy:  which  she  tells  me  is  fascina- 
ting and  very  useful  for  cases  of  shell-shock.  She 
expects  to  go  out  to  France  later  on,  attached  to  the 
Woman's  Hospital  Unit.  I'm  on  the  Belgian  Relief 
Committee  and  it  takes  every  minute  of  my  time.  .  .  . 
Last  week,  I  gave  a  talk  at  college,  all  about  our  jour- 
ney, and  we  made  $300  for  the  Red  Cross. — How's 
that?  You  are  so  clever  at  all  that  sort  of  thing  .  .  . 
you  really  ought  to  come  home.  There's  a  great  deal 
of  ignorance  about  the  causes  of  the  War,  I  find,  and 
many  people  talk  as  though  Germany  was  beset  by 
a  ring  of  enemies.  Very  few  try  to  follow  the  Presi- 
dent's example  and  be  really  and  truly  neutral  .  .  . 
Yes:  I'll  get  my  cousin  to  send  you  some  books  on 
these  latest  treatments  for  nervous  injuries 
there's  a  wonderful  something  or  other  called  the 
Weisler  treatment — which  everybody  is  talking  about 


NEW  TRAILS  65 

and  they  say  is  very  successful.  But  what  do  you 
know  about  nerves  and  shell-shock,  my  dear?  It 
sounds  to  me  just  a  little  absurd !" 

"Wait  and  see  what  I  know  about  shell-shock,  you 
dear  old  thing!"  wrote  Sydney,  "and  don't  waste  any 
more  paper  asking  me  to  be  neutral — I  go  in  for 
righteous  wrath.  You  and  your  busy  ladies  and  your 
Belgian  Relief  are  all  very  well,  but  the  only  relief 
for  Belgium  that  I  can  see  is  to  kill  the  Germans. 
And  somehow,  Bess,  I  can  see  a  time  coming  when 
the  United  States  is  going  to  agree  with  me." 


CHAPTER  X 

"AND  so  that  dear  boy  at  the  hospital  who  is  so 
bad,  is  Thomas  Easterly's  son?"  said  Miss  Vio- 
land.  Sydney  looked  up  from  the  life  of  Disraeli 
she  was  reading.  The  two  were  sitting  by  the  fire, 
while  the  thick  stillness  of  a  Mayfair  winter  evening 
enfolded  them.  Far  away  sounded  a  taxi-horn,  other- 
wise, as  Sydney  often  reflected,  she  had  known  it 
noisier  in  a  New  England  forest  than  here  in  the 
heart  of  a  city  of  seven  million  people. 

"Yes:"  she  replied,  then  with  grave  satisfaction 
at  using  a  pure  Briticism,  "he's  better — that  is,  he's 
not  so  bad  as  he  was." 

"I  heard  his  father  once  at  the  House:  he  spoke 
very  strongly  against  one  of  those  iniquitous  Home 
Rule  measures — when  he  was  quite  a  young  man. 
He  had  sound  common  sense  and  was  not  too  clever," 
said  Miss  Violand  tolerantly,  giving  Sir  Thomas  the 
highest  praise  she  knew. 

"Certainly  he  is  not  too  clever  .  .  .  and  he's 
very  quaint  and  quite  simple  ...  I  wonder  are 
they  alllike  that?" 

"I  should  hope  we  all  had  true  simplicity  of  man- 
ner, Sydney  .  .  .  but  I  don't  know  what  else  you 
mean." 

"Well,  when  Sir  Thomas  says  beans — he  means 
beans,  that's  all — "  she  broke  into  laughter  at  her 
friend's  mystified  face  and  hurried  on.  "Never  mind 
— it's  just  my  barbarian  way  of  talking  ...  I  do 
like  Sir  Thomas  and  he  likes  me,  I'm  sure,  ever  since 
I  took  him  that  book  on  the  Weisler  treatment  for 
nerve-shock.  He  showed  it  to  Sir  Andrew  Spencer, 
and  that  Weisler  treatment  really  has  done  the  boy 
so  much  good.  It  has  quieted  him  and  he  sleeps  better 

66 


NEW  TRAILS  67 

and  suffers  less.  .  .  .  Sir  Thomas  simply  chuckled," 
Sydney  went  on,  laying  aside  her  book  and  clasping 
her  hands  over  her  knee,  "because,  you  see,  I  warned 
him  it  would  never  do  to  let  the  surgeon  dream  who 
suggested  the  idea  ...  it  would  set  them  dead 
against  it.  He  said  I  had  a  head  on  my  shoulders." 

"You  are  very  clever,  Sydney,  but — " 

"If  you  knew  Sir  Andrew  Spencer,  dear,  you 
wouldn't  wonder  at  me  ...  he  thinks  he  got  a  title 
merely  for  sticking  to  his  own  opinion  and  maybe  he 
did.  Anyway,  do  you  think  he  would  have  even 
looked  at  Weisler's  book  if  he  knew  who  had  brought 
it  to  his  notice?  But  I  coached  Sir  Thomas — I  told 
him  not  to  mention  Hugh  or  his  symptoms — but  just 
always  to  infer  that  Sir  Andrew  knew  all  about  the 
Weisler  treatment  and  leave  the  book  lying  around — 
on  Hugh's  bed,  if  he  could  work  it.  ...  Sir  Andrew 
did  know  the  book — that  is,  the  outside  of  it!  So 
back  he  came  to  Sister  Lucy,  swelling  like  a  turkey- 
cock  and  saying  'eh-ah,'  he  thinks  it  might  be  worth 
while  to  try  that  new  American  treatment  on  Hugh 
Easterly  .  .  .  that  eh  .  .  ah  .  .  Weisler  treatment,' 
you  see?  So  they  did.  And  when  the  boy  got  some 
real  sleep — the  first  time — why,  Sir  Andrew  beamed 
like  the  sun.  'Very  few  practitioners  are  aware  of  all 
these  new  discoveries  !'  says  he." 

Miss  Violand  smiled,  but  looked  doubtful.  She 
was  always  afraid  of  novelty. 

"Ever  since  that  day  Sir  Thomas  comes  often  into 
the  office  and  looks  about,"  Sydney  pursued,  "he's 
interested  in  my  files  and  records  and  he  gives  me 
tests — 'Now,  Miss  Lea,  how  quickly  can  you  give  me 
such-and-such  information?'  Today,  I  did  it  for 
him  and  a  friend  in  three  minutes  by  his  watch,  and 
he  was  so  proud  I  'Splendid  system,  Romeyne,  you 
seel'  he  said."  The  name  caught  Miss  Violand's  in- 
terest. 


68        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

"Was  that  Adrian  Romeyne,  by  any  chance?" 

"That  was  his  name  ...  I  looked  him  up  in  Who's 
Who  at  once.  He  came  to  see  Hugh." 

"How  interesting — of  course,  he  is  a  dreadful 
Liberal — but  then  I  understand  he  is  quite  a  person- 
age, a  rising  man.  What  was  he  like?" 

"Well,  he  was  a  real  man — not  a  stuffed  shirt.  He 
has  big  eyes  and  talks  from  away  'way  up'." 

"Good  heavens!  my  child — what  expressions  1" 
Miss  Violand  underwent  severe  shocks  whenever  her 
young  friend  gave  utterance  to  these  candid  opinions 
in  picturesque  vernacular.  This  dauntless  audacity 
of  youth  had  not  touched  her  horizon  for  many  years. 
She  looked  across  at  the  girl's  slender  figure  with  a 
sense  of  bewilderment.  What  sureness  of  poise  they 
had  nowadays,  and  what  energy !  Imagine  herself  at 
the  same  age  announcing  that  a  prominent  member 
of  the  Government  was  "not  a  stuffed  shirt!"  And 
then  always  a  book,  always  study — it  was  very  re- 
markable. 

"I  never  met  Mr.  Romeyne — but  I  believe  he  is 
considered  to  have  a  political  future,"  she  observed. 

"He  is  a  man  with  brains.  I  liked  him,"  said 
Sydney  serenely:  then  she  continued  with  her  eyes 
on  the  coals: — "He  said — Mr.  Romeyne  said,  that 
Disraeli's  career  was  the  triumph  of  intellect  over 
personality  and  I  said  that  it  seemed  to  me  rather 
the  triumph  of  personality  over  principle;  and  he 
smiled.  Then  he  and  Sir  Thomas  talked  a  little  about 
politics  and  Asquith  and  so  on.  ...  It  was 
very  interesting." 

"It  must  have  been,  indeed." 

"That  is  a  very  fascinating  world — "  the  girl 
went  on.  "I  wonder — if  one  read  and  studied  a  lot, 
would  there  be  any  chance  of  getting  a  glimpse  of 
it?" 

"How  do  you  mean,  my  dear?" 


NEW  TRAILS  69 

"Well,  as  somebody's  secretary  for  example.  I 
should  love  it.  And  I'd  work  hard." 

"No  one  would  employ  a  girl  of  your  age  in 
such  a  capacity,"  was  Miss  Violand's  opinion  and 
Sydney  was  silenced.  Giddy  came  in  to  bring  her 
mistress  a  hot  drink,  to  rake  down  and  cover  the 
fire,  and  to  remark  that  tomorrow  was  going  to  be 
"a  rough  day." 

Sydney  Lea  kept  her  vague  dreams  to  herself  there- 
after; but  in  her  hospital  office  she  became  aware  of 
currents  of  change  which  kept  her  from  accepting 
her  elderly  friend's  convictions.  She  worked  and 
read  and  studied;  and  she  was  ever  conscious  of  the 
fuller  currents  of  sympathy  and  intellectual  energy, 
to  which  she  lent  herself.  Yet  all  the  while  she  never 
lost  the  sense  that  individual  interests  and  efforts 
seemed  to  be  swamped  by  the  collective  need  of  the 
world,  swamped  in  universal  suffering.  Pain  and 
death :  death  and  pain :  had  society  any  other  aspect? 
She  was  soon  however  to  behold  one :  Miss  Violand's 
nephew  came  home  for  a  short  leave.  This  was  the 
first  soldier  Sydney  had  met — in  health  that  is — 
and  holding  the  normal  place  in  the  vast  machinery 
whose  vibrations  filled  the  whole  world. 

Eric  Violand  was  a  personable  fellow ;  he  was  tall 
and  yellow-haired,  with  grey  eyes  and  a  very  valuable 
lack  of  imagination.  He  talked  about  life  "out 
there,"  somewhat  vaguely,  and  with  an  apparently 
deliberate  evasion  of  its  dramatic  aspects.  This  Well- 
ingtonian  tradition  of  the  British  military  attitude 
was  very  prevalent  that  first  winter — when  the  whole 
army  repeated  the  Duke's  famous  remark  "By  God, 
it  would  not  have  done  if  I  had  not  been  there!" 
Eric  was  exactly  like  that :  he  answered  "Oh  yes !"  and 
"quite  so"  and  "rather,"  to  his  aunt's  questions;  he 
spoke  respectfully  of  the  enemy  and  so-so  about  the 


70       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

Belgians.  Already,  in  those  few  tremendous  months, 
the  affair  had  come  to  wear  in  his  mind  the  familiar 
countenance  of  duty — rousing  neither  enthusiasm  nor 
dislike — ;  already,  the  horror  and  strain  and  danger 
had  become  a  humdrum  natural  part  of  life, — already 
he  welcomed  a  turn  of  the  talk  toward  other  sub- 
jects. Sydney  Lea  termed  him  inwardly  "Peter  Bell" 
and  marvelled  at  him.  Bovine, — animal — were  they 
merely?  And  yet  splendid — the  saviours  of  the 
world ! 

Miss  Violand's  eyes  were  full  of  affection  when 
she  looked  at  her  dear  boy.  He  on  his  part,  sur- 
veyed the  new  inmate  of  his  aunt's  house  with  ap- 
proval, though  with  no  idea  of  what  was  really  pass- 
ing beyond  what  he  called  the  "ripping"  eyes  of  this 
young  lady.  He  went  on  to  talk,  gayly  and  simply, 
of  France  and  his  amusements  when  at  rest  "behind 
the  lines"  and  from  there  to  the  subject  of  the  United 
States  concerning  which  his  ignorance  was  naif  and 
profound. 

"You  people  are  really  wonderful,"  he  remarked. 
"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  decided  to  stay  in 
England  merely  because  you  were  interested?" 

"I  am  quite  alone,  you  see,"  she  answered;  "there 
is  nobody  really  to  care.  It  meant  a  change  of  work 
— nothing  more." 

"Well — its  magnificent — so  I  think  and  so  does 
Aunt  Nelly.  Of  course  we  know,  in  France  what 
the  Americans  are  doing.  I  wish  the  Huns  would 
stir  up  that  wasp's  nest — and  no  doubt  they  will. 

But,  I.  say,  aren't  we  going  to  the  play?" 

The  three  of  them  set  forth  in  high  spirits  to  the 
theatre.  Miss  Violand  sat  silent  and  content.  Syd- 
ney noticed  that  she  had  added  a  collar  and  cuffs  of 
fine  ivory  lace  to  her  black  silk  dress — which  she  wore 
with  a  persistency  unknown  to  the  American  woman, 


NEW  TRAILS  71 

and  also  had  twisted  a  third  gold  chain  around  her 
neck  in  honor  of  the  occasion. 

London's  darkness  during  the  first  winter  was  no- 
thing to  what  it  became  later,  but  the  streets  pre- 
sented a  marked  contrast  to  the  time  Eric  had  last 
beheld  them,  and  one  of  which  he  greatly  disap- 
proved. 

"What  do  they  think  is  going  to  happen?"  he 
said  scornfully.  "I  call  it  shameful — letting  the 
enemy  see  how  his  threats  affect  us."  f 

The  musical  comedy  greatly  pleased  him  and  some 
score  of  other  young  officers  like  him;  and  during 
the  entr'acte  he  chatted  with  Miss  Lea. 

"It's  a  very  great  departure  for  Aunt  Nelly  to 
have  asked  you  to  stay  with  her,"  he  observed  reflec- 
tively. "She  has  always  been  to  me  just  a  delicious 
bit  of  Victorian  bric-a-brac  stuck  away  in  Mayfair." 

"And  I  am  the  bull  in  the  china-shop?" 

"Not  at  all.  You  seem  to  fit  in  jolly  well.  But 
it's  true  she  never  was  one  to  go  in  for  Americans," 
he  rejoined,  with  characteristic  frankness. 

"I  say,  Aunt  Nelly,  she's  a  ripper — your  young 
lady,"  he  said  to  his  aunt  next  afternoon  over  their 
tea;  "and  a  good  sort,  I  should  think." 

"Sydney  is  a  dear,  and  with  all  her  independent 
American  ways — quite  startling  though  they  are  to  me 
sometimes — yet  she  usually  does  the  right  thing  and 
she  is  truly  devoted  to  the  Allies,"  said  Miss  Violand, 
much  gratified.  Her  nephew,  whose  vocabulary  was 
as  limited  as  is  usual  with  his  type,  repeated  that 
Sydney  was  a  "good  sort." 

"I'm  so  glad  you  approve,  darling"  his  aunt  con- 
tinued in  a  burst  of  confidence.  "I  was  worried  about 
taking  such  a  step,  at  first,  but  then  everyone  was 
doing  something  of  the  kind  and  Lady  Welden  ad- 
vised me  very  strongly.  Somehow,  I  couldn't  )>ring 


72       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

myself  to  take  in  a  Belgian  family — the  language 
and  all  that.  If  one  must  take  in  a  foreigner,  this 
seemed  so  much  better!" 

"I  should  rather    say  so,"    her  nephew    replied 
shortly,  and  changed  the  subject. 


CHAPTER  XI 

"AND  what  did  you  think  of  the  House?"  asked 
Sir  Thomas  Easterly. 

The  month  was  March,  with  a  pale  sky,  frost,  and 
a  nipping  wind.  Sir  Thomas  had  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment in  the  office  as  his  way  often  was  before  going 
home.  He  stood,  square-faced  and  ample,  in  front 
of  the  fireplace  and  directly  interrogated  the  young 
lady  at  the  desk. 

"Well — it  seemed  to  me  on  the  whole,"  she  an- 
swered him  slowly,  "to  be  rather — lacking  in  dis- 
tinction." 

Sir  Thomas  chuckled.  He  was  given  to  these  di- 
rect questions  and  apt  to  chuckle  at  her  answers. 

"Quite  so — quite  right — so  it  is.  The  Liberals 
take  'em  as  a  body,  have  energy  but  no  knowledge  of 
war.  We  have  the  knowledge — some  of  us ! — but  no 
energy.  We  stick  in  the  mire  of  tradition;  while 
they  splash  their  ignorance  over  the  nation." 

"But  Mr.  Asquith,  surely — ?" 

"No  party  can  get  along  on  one  man's  brains,  in 
war  time.  Besides — you  know  what  my  friend  Ro- 
meyne  said  about  the  P.M.?  That  he  had  all  the 
qualities  of  a  great  statesman,  except  resolution — 
whereas  Lloyd  George  had  none  of  the  qualities  of 
a  great  statesman — except  resolution!" 

Miss  Lea  smiled  appreciatively,  and  as  Sir  Thomas 
moved  toward  the  door,  she  asked  after  his  son. 

"Hugh  is  infinitely  better — thanks  to  all  of  you 
here  and  in  particular  to  you,  Miss  Lea.  The  way 
you  handled  Spencer  over  that  Weisler  treatment 
was  wonderful.  I  know  Spencer — clever  fellow — 

73 


74       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

but  vainer  than  a  peacock  and  never  accepts  anybody 
else's  ideas  on  principle.  How  did  you  do  it?" 

"Oh,  just  a  little  indirect  suggestion,"  said  Sydney 
gravely,  but  her  eyes  laughed. 

"Well — now  we  shall  get  the  boy  down  in  the 
country,  they  tell  me,  by  another  fortnight.  I  left 
him  reading  and  quite  comfortable — and  they  even 
hope  to  get  him  on  his  feet  again  one  of  these  days." 

"I'm  awfully  glad,"  said  the  girl  warmly  and 
turned  once  more  to  her  work.  But  her  share  in 
poor  Hugh's  improvement  stuck  in  his  father's  mind 
as  he  put  his  latchkey  into  the  door  at  Charles  Street, 
and  he  spoke  to  his  wife  about  it.  His  account  of  this 
young  ally  interested  Ada  Easterly  a  good  deal; 
so  she  and  Janey  dropped  in  one  afternoon  and  said 
a  kind  word  to  the  young  secretary.  Her  appearance, 
tall,  pale  and  quiet,  favorably  impressed  them,  and 
undoubtedly  also  the  fact  she  was  staying  with  Miss 
Violand, — which  Lady  Easterly  quite  frankly,  if  not 
bluntly,  ascertained  by  direct  questions — had  its  ef- 
fect. Yet  it  is  perfectly  true  that  when  she  asked 
Sydney  to  tea,  Lady  Easterly  was  influenced  almost 
wholly  by  the  profound  changes  in  the  status  of 
the  individual  which  the  War  had  brought  about — 
and  which  had  suddenly  cast  down  as  by  machine 
guns — the  barbed-wire  barriers  of  centuries. 

Sydney  went — thought  they  were  very  kind  and 
pleasant  and  thought  little  more  about  it.  What  did 
interest  her,  was  the  appearance  at  tea  of  Mrs. 
Romeyne — to  whom  Lady  Easterly  felt  conscien- 
tiously obliged  to  pay  some  sort  of  periodical  atten- 
tion. Sydney  sat  very  quietly  in  her  corner,  and 
looked  at  Mrs.  Romeyne;  and  wondered  what  hid- 
den streak  of  vulgarity  there  must  be  in  the  man 
with  the  big  eyes  which  could  have  responded  to  this 
creature.  She  did,  of  course,  like  all  Americans, 
base  her  conceptions  of  marriage  on  love.  Of  the 


NEW  TRAILS  75 

other  motives  which  might  exist  for  it — she  had  no 
idea  whatever.  She  had  no  estimate  of  the  influence 
which  might  lead  a  brilliant  man,  hampered  in  that 
great  world  for  means  with  which  to  push  his  ambi- 
tion, to  marry  a  totally  unsuitable  woman  for  that 
reason:  and  still  less  had  Sydney  any  knowledge  of 
those  underlying  assumptions  of  English  society, 
which  exist  to  mitigate,  for  any  man  who  makes 
such  a  marriage,  its  worst  results.  In  her  scheme  of 
things,  all  marriage  meant  an  intimacy  which  if  un- 
pleasant might  be  terminated  by  divorce — but  which, 
while  it  existed,  deprived  either  one  of  the  sufferers 
from  a  similar  intimacy  with  anyone  else.  The  fact 
that  for  some  centuries  marriage — for  the  man  at 
least — in  England  has  been  granted  an  amelioration 
in  fact,  which  it  has  been  hard  to  secure  by  law — is 
a  very  startling  circumstance  to  a  young  provincial. 
So  Sydney  sat  and  regarded  Mrs.  Romeyne's  purple 
and  scarlet  frock  and  henna-tinted  hair  with  philo- 
sophic and  very  naive  reflections.  She  also  regarded 
Janey — who  though  nearly  her  own  age  and  evidently 
very  capable  and  busy,  seemed  to  her  like  a  being 
from  another  sphere.  Janey  was  tall  and  rather 
clumsy  in  build,  her  round,  rosy  face  and  large  placid 
eyes  had  little  beauty,  though  set  in  a  mass  of  won- 
derful copper-brown  hair.  She  spoiled  the  effect  of 
her  plain,  useful  frock  by  adding  one  color  too  much, 
purple  for  choice,  and  she  was  singularly  lacking  in 
grace  or  graciousness.  Yet  Sydney  felt  strongly  that 
there  lay  a  real  charm  in  her  direct  frankness. 

Meanwhile,  Janey  in  her  turn  was  studying  the 
guest — deciding  that  she  was  lovely  looking — with 
that  pale  face  and  dark  hair,  and  that  she  dressed 
vaguely  well  and  that  she  had  an  astonishing  as- 
surance of  manner.  Were  Americans  always  so  much 
at  ease?  Of  course  nowadays  one  took  people  more 


76        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

or  less  at  their  own  valuation,  but  this  "Princess  in 
disguise"  bearing  was  the  last  she  had  expected. 

Sydney's  absence  of  class  consciousness  stood  her 
in  good  stead  in  their  encounters  in  a  new  world. 
Since  she  herself  was  aware  of  no  social  difference 
between  her  own  position  and  that  of  these  kind 
people — they  also  ceased  to  be  aware  of  it.  The  fact 
that  she  worked  for  her  living  had  not  made  her 
unsure.  But  all  this  might  have  counted  less  with  her 
hostess  than  the  strange  combination  in  Sydney's  per- 
sonality at  this  time — of  qualities  both  sexless  and 
feminine.  An  English  mother  of  sons  is  quick  to 
detect  signs  of  the  predatory  woman — for  whom  she 
is  especially  apt  to  look  in  the  ranks  of  the  typist,  or 
the  trained  nurse — and  of  whom  she  is  brought  up  to 
beware.  In  Lady  Easterly  this  suspicion  was  coun- 
teracted by  great  natural  kindness,  as  by  the  absence 
of  Middleton  in  France.  But  it  existed  nevertheless ; 
it  caused  her  to  watch  the  girl  narrowly — under  cover 
of  her  talk  with  Mrs.  Romeyne,  and  what  she  saw 
pleased  her  and  warmed  her  interest.  She  bade  Syd- 
ney good-bye  with  cordiality;  hoped  they  would  see 
her  again,  thanked  her  heartily  for  her  part  in  the 
boy's  improvement,  and  sent  her  out  into  the  empty 
world  with  a  new  and  pleasant  sense  of  friendliness. 

At  the  end  of  the  month  Eric  Violand  came  home 
on  a  few  days'  leave,  and  showed  very  plainly  the 
attraction  which  his  aunt's  guest  had  come  to  have 
for  him.  Those  long  and  bitter  weeks  in  the  trenches, 
during  which  imagination  had  furnished  the  only 
relief,  had  brought  him  many  pictures  of  Sydney 
sitting  by  the  fire  with  the  light  on  her  shadowy  hair, 
or  coming  in,  from  the  black  streets  with  her  swift 
step  and  her  smile — to  narrate  with  vivid  speech  and 
gesture,  the  little  encounters  of  her  day. 

At  first,  he  met  her  with  the  shy  stiffness  and  cau- 
tion which  is  habitual  to  an  Englishman  whenever 


NEW  TRAILS  77 

he  is  conscious  of  any  heightened  feeding.  This 
caution  has  been  evolved  as  a  means  of  self-defence 
among  an  inflammable  race  and  one  whose  mating 
instinct  is  less  idealized  than  in  certain  other  societies. 
Moreover,  in  these  tense  war-times,  emotions  were 
easily  roused  and  quickly  killed;  men  snatched  at 
happiness  under  the  very  wings  of  the  dark  angel 
and  no  man's  wedding-feast  escaped  the  death's  head. 
Those  desperate  issues  which  were  being  fought  out 
on  the  front  had  brought  a  heightening  of  all  primi- 
tive impulses — had  turned  the  balance  in  favour  of 
the  animal.  Hence — just  as  Boccaccio  pointed  out 
many  centuries  before — ,  there  had  arisen  sudden 
matings  and  sudden  dissensions — swift  and  evanes- 
cent passions:  love  affairs  that  had  a  fatal  lack  of 
permanency  or  seriousness ;  and  were  often  carried  to 
fruition  wifh  an  extraordinary  cynicism.  Young  peo- 
ple met  and  married  on  the  wave  of  pity  or  of  high 
heroic  feeling;  flirtations  flamed  up  suddenly  into 
passions,  which  died  out  after  a  brief  indulgence  and 
left  only  wreck  behind.  The  current  of  tension  and 
of  suffering  with  which  society  as  a  whole  was 
charged;  drew  its  atoms  irresistibly  together  in  con- 
nections as  capricious  as  brief  and  the  elder  world 
no  longer  seemed  to  have  the  power,  as  heretofore, 
to  punish  the  wrong-doer  by  its  frown. 

Young  Eric  Violand  was  of  course  quite  unaware 
of  the  forces  which  drew  him  to  the  stranger  and 
was  very  distrustful  and  decidedly  reserved.  But 
the  girl  herself  was  so  frank  and  gay  and  she  met  him 
with  such  a  comradely  unconsciousness  that  this  could 
not  long  continue.  It  soon  gave  way  indeed  to  be- 
wilderment at  her  way  of  treating  his  advances:  for 
she  took  quite  as  a  matter  of  course  the  small  atten- 
tions which  to  an  English  girl  would  have  seemed  full 
of  significance. 

"Why,  I  almost  as  good  as  proposed  last  night — 


78        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

But  she  never  seems  even  to  see  it !"  thought  the 
young  man  discontentedly  and  with  a  feeling  of 
wonder. 

"You  don't  appear  very  glad  to  see  a  fellow  on 
leave,"  he  remarked. 

"You  are  interfering  with  my  work,"  she  replied 
severely.  This  was  at  the  hospital,  where  Eric  had 
dropped  in  to  suggest  a  walk  in  the  park  before  tea. 

"Well,  I  can't  see  why  you  should  kill  yourself. 
Besides  you  ought  to  do  something  for  a  chap  on  his 
leave." 

"There  are  loads  of  people  quite  ready  to  do 
that,  it  seems,"  Sydney  answered  severely;  "there's 
Miss  Guest." 

Miss  Guest  was  the  daughter  of  a  neighboring  mag- 
nate to  whom  the  War  furnished  a  justification  for 
her  more  predatory  instincts  and  who  exercised  them 
unblushingly.  She  bobbed  her  hair  and  wore  a  uni- 
form and  came  to  the  hospital  to  walk  out  with  the 
convalescents  and  there  her  activities  ceased.  To 
Sister  Lucy  and  those  strained,  devoted  women  whose 
days  and  nights  were  one  long  fight  against  suffer- 
ing in  its  bitterest  form,  she  was  a  torment  and  a 
reproach. 

"I  don't  know  Miss  Guest  and  I  don't  want  to 
know  her,"  replied  Eric  doggedly  and  he  did  not 
move. 

Sydney  turned  away  from  him  to  her  telephone. 
She  answered  the  enquiry  of  some  anxious  person  who 
found  her  American  intonation  hard  to  hear  clearly 
and  resented  the  fact;  when  that  was  done,  she  sent 
another  message  on  her  own  account.  Sister  Lucy 
appeared  in  the  doorway,  with  a  crisp — 

"Miss  Lea — that  last  iodine.     .     .     .     when  did 
we  get  it  and  from  whom?"    And  Sydney  was  at  her 
files  in  an  instant  and  her  reply: 
"March  3rd — Burroughs  and  Wellcome"  was  as 


NEW  TRAILS  79 

crisp  as  Sister  Lucy's.  There  was  nothing  to  do  for 
the  young  officer  but  to  take  his  leave  and  he  did  so, 
comforted  perhaps  by  the  kindness  of  her  glance.  At 
the  same  time,  he  reflected,  walking  slowly  homeward 
— there  was  no  reason  to  be  so  business-like  as  all 
that.  The  women  were  a  great  help  no  doubt  but 
this  independent  manner  about  it  he  vaguely  resented. 

Sydney  was  very  nice  to  him  when  she  came  home 
that  evening,  and  at  dinner  she  told  them  how  much 
better  Hugh  Easterly  was,  and  that  Sir  Thomas  had 
dropped  in  to  tell  her  how  the  boy  enjoyed  being  at 
Easterly  Park  and  to  give  her  the  name  of  a  book 
on  the  history  of  political  parties. 

"What  in  the  world—?"  Eric  asked.  "You're 
hardly  likely  to  need  that  information." 

"That  or  any  other  information,"  she  replied 
gaily.  "I  have  my  ambitions — I'm  not  going  to  stay 
on  at  the  hospital  all  my  life." 

"I  should  say  not!"  Eric's  view  was  that  women 
were  doing  magnificent  work  during  the  War,  but 
that  as  soon  as  the  War  was  over  they  should  be  in- 
vited in  quite  unmistakable  terms,  to  step  back  into 
the  shelter  of  the  home;  "but  I  don't  quite  see — as 
you're  not  a  suffragette,  are  you?  what  you  would 
have  to  do  with  politics." 

"Women  in  this  country  seem  to  have  a  lot  to  do 
with  them.  I'd  like  to  work  for  awhile  in  a  Govern- 
ment bureau  and  see  how  it's  run." 

Eric  laughed  with  the  least  touch  of  patronage. 

"To  release  a  man  for  the  Front,  is  the  proper 
expression  nowadays,"  he  said.  "I  don't  deny  tnat 
you  could  do  it  and  very  well,  too.  But  honestly  now, 
wouldn't  it  be  chiefly  the  excitement  that  attracted 
you?" 

"What  attracts  me  is  the  work,"  she  answered 
simply.  Eric  did  not  understand  this. 

"But — what  sort  of  work?"  he  persisted. 


8o       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

"Head  work — for  instance — don't  you  think  I 
might  make  a  good  secretary  to  a  political  man  or  a 
Cabinet  Minister  or  something  really  important,  like 
that?" 

She  spoke  playfully  and  yet  seriously,  appealing  to 
Miss  Violand,  who  looked  perplexed. 

"They  always  seem  to  have  elderly  men  for  that 
position,"  she  observed  doubtfully. 

"Doddering  old  chaps — with  one  foot  in  the 
grave,"  said  her  nephew  cheerfully. 

"What  would  Mr.  Lloyd  George  or  Mr.  Bonar 
Law  be  doing  with  a  lovely  young  lady  secretary 
from  the  States?" 

Sydney  smiled.  "But  I  never  thought  of  them. 
.  .  .  There  was  one  man  whose  secretary  I'd 
love  to  be." 

"Who's  that— Asquith?" 

"Don't  be  absurd — no.     Mr.  Adrian  Romeyne." 

"Personally,  one  of  these  politicians  is  just  as  much 
a  name  to  me  as  another,"  remarked  the  young  man, 
with  true  military  condescension. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THAT  remarkable  man,  Adrian  Romeyne,  later 
to  be  known  as  Lord  Waveney,  was  forty-five  or 
thereabouts  at  the  beginning  of  the  War.  He  was 
a  man  quite  unknown  to  the  public,  nor  had  he  up  to 
this  time  held  any  salient  post  which  would  have  been 
likely  to  increase  their  knowledge.  When  he  received 
the  appointment  he  now  held —  a  minor  but  import- 
ant position  in  the  Foreign  Office — the  world  knew 
of  him  only  as  a  useful  person  of  large  experience 
and  of  unusual  judgment  and  initiative.  But  he  was 
more  than  this.  No  one  who  threaded  that  complex 
political  maze  of  the  years  1914-1917  but  was  con- 
stantly being  reminded  of  the  existence  of  Adrian 
Romeyne.  His  influence  was  never  merely  taken  for 
granted.  There  was  hardly  one  of  His  Majesty's 
Government  Offices — whether  the  War  Office  or  the 
Admiralty,  whether  the  Home  Office  or  the  Colonial, 
without  some  important  functionary  who  owed  his 
situation  there  directly  or  indirectly,  to  Romeyne. 
There  were  few  of  the  big  men — and  this  was  a 
fact  independent  of  party,  who,  at  one  time  or  an- 
other, had  not  been  under  an  obligation  to  him.  Long 
before  he  was  ever  made  a  Privy  Councillor,  it  might 
have  been  truly  said  that  he  headed  a  small  Privy 
Council  of  his  own.  He  was  not  a  Cabinet  Minister 
but  he  was  often  present  at  Cabinet  meetings,  and 
he  never  missed  those  small  private  gatherings  of 
four  or  five  or  six  men  at  Sir  Edward  Grey's  house 
or  the  P.M.'s — where  things  were  talked  over  and 
determined  in  freedom;  and  moreover  on  such  occa- 
sions, it  was  usually  his  mind  that  gave  the  guiding 
touch.  And  if  it  were  not,  if  Romeyne's  judgment 

si 


82       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

were  overruled  and  if  hesitation  and  procrastination 
carried  the  day,  the  result  was  generally  unfortunate 
enough  to  heighten  his  power  on  the  next  occasion. 
The  delicate  and  intricate  ramifications  of  his  influ- 
ence spread  in  a  fine  web  through  the  Banks  and  the 
Bench  and  the  Board  of  Trade;  it  was  felt  in  neutral 
countries  and  it  was  dreaded  by  the  enemy.  He  was 
indeed  a  master  diplomat,  his  manner  was  at  once 
authoritative  and  persuasive ;  and  when  he  fixed  those 
large,  calm  eyes  on  one — one  became  convinced  that 
his  suggestion  was  the  only  course  possible.  Much 
of  his  power  was  due  to  the  fact  that  he  had  an  in- 
fallible instinct  for  success,  that  he  never  wasted  a 
second  of  his  time  on  a  lost  cause  and  never  used  his 
influence  except  where  that  investment  was  likely  to 
increase  his  capital.  He  was  no  idealist  but  neither 
was  he  a  cynic.  His  genius  lay  in  making  people  think 
that  what  he  wanted  them  to  do  was  what  they  most 
desired  themselves  and  he  was  a  consummate  master 
of  the  obscure  and  difficult  art  of  psychological  sug- 
gestion. If  there  was  a  Swedish  Minister  whose 
amour  propre  must  be  soothed,  (the  Swedes  were  a 
terrible  problem  for  the  Allies  during  these  years,) 
an  Irish  Bishop  to  be  conciliated,  a  big  man  from  the 
Colonies  or  the  States  to  be  made  to  feel  his  import- 
ance— the  person  appointed  to  the  task  was  almost 
always  Adrian  Romeyne.  He  stood  in  the  centre  of 
all  the  antagonisms  and  clashing  social  interests  which 
the  War  had  created,  and  he  seemed  to  know  instinc- 
tively how  to  reconcile  them,  how  to  get  men  of  oppo- 
site parties  to  pull  together,  and  how  to  bring  in  touch 
the  elder  aristocratic  body  with  the  new  powers  which 
the  Government  had,  reluctantly  enough,  called  into 
being. 

That  he  did  not  accomplish  more  during  these 
years  was  due  to  the  fact  that  he  was  only  one  man 
and  that  the  Philistines  were  many.  One  man  to  be 


NEW  TRAILS  83 

intelligent  and  clear  sighted  where  hundreds  were 
stupid  and  purblind;  one  man  to  be  firm  and  calm 
where  thousands  were  nervous  and  fidgety;  one  man 
to  persuade,  to  conciliate  a  neutral  country  into 
friendship,  while  all  the  rest,  blatant  with  arrogance 
and  self-importance,  were  piling  up  enmities  against 
themselves  and  their  Government.  One  man  who 
walked  free  of  muddle  and  whose  imagination  fore- 
saw a  world  existing  after  1915 — while  the  entire 
political  system  of  the  country  based  itself  on  and  leg- 
islated for  a  time  no  further  than  week  after  next! 
No:  one  man  was  not  enough,  and,  but  for  the  fact 
that  with  Romeyne  serene  philosophy  took  the  place 
of  cynicism  or  depression,  he  could  never  have  taken 
heart  for  that  Sisyphaean  task. 

"They  have  the  idea,"  he  told  his  friend  Easterly, 
— "they  have  the  idea — of  passing  a  measure  which 
will  carry  on  and  pacify  the  public  until  next  Mon- 
day— and  then  on  Monday  they  will  pass  another  to 
carry  them  till  Thursday — and  so  following." 

"Swine  !"  muttered  his  irritated  friend,  but  Adrian 
never  smiled. 

"Not  swine — sheep,"  he  said  gently,  and  then  after 
a  pause  again  to  speak  in  that  manner  of  quasi  Olym- 
pian detachment,  which  was  so  characteristic. 

"This  morning  I  had  to  go  to  see  that  traitor — 
Anstyce — " 

"But,  Romeyne,  is  he  really — -" 

"Anstyce  is  not  a  member  of  the  Government  and 
so  he  made  a  prophecy  that  the  Government  will  fall. 
And  as  he  has  made  a  prophecy  that  the  Government 
will  fall,  he  is  anxious  to  see  his  prophecy  fulfilled. 
And  as  he  wishes  his  prophecy  to  be  fulfilled,  so  he 
wishes  the  Government  not  to  succeed  in  winning  the 
War.  And  as  he  wishes  the  Government  to  fail  in 
winning  the  War — then  he  is  a  traitor." 


84        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

"You  put  it  with  a  deadly  clarity.  I  know  the  man 
and  of  course  he  does  not  think  he  is  disloyal." 

"He  does  not  think  at  all :  his  mind  is  filled  with  his 
own  importance  to  the  exclusion  of  all  thought.  Be- 
ing so  self-important  only  an  equal  self-importance 
can  make  any  impression  on  his  mind.  And  the  only 
self-importance  equal  to  his  today  is  Germany's.  But 
one  could  forgive  that — one  could  forgive  that.  What 
one  cannot  forgive  is  the  lack  of  faith.  He  and  his 
clique  spend  all  their  days  in  terrified  rushing  to  and 
fro  to  spread  panic  and  distrust.  You  know  how 
they  go  on?" 

"I  know." 

"We  cannot  have  conscription — labour  won't  stand 
for  it — nor  Home  Rule — Ulster  won't  stand  for  it — 
nor  Nationalism — the  Sinn  Fein  won't  stand  for  it; 
nor  Indian  troops  in  Mesopotamia — the  Moham- 
medans won't  stand  for  it.  And  the  sum  of  all  these 
negations  is  zero." 

"And  what  can  we  do  about  it?" 

"That  takes  reflection,"  said  Adrian,  using  his  pet 
formula  and  in  this  case  repeating  it,  before  he 

changed  the  subject:  "that  takes  reflection .  How 

does  Hugh  go  on?" 

"Infinitely  better,  thank  God!  It  will  be  a  long 
pull,  but  we  have  hopes  at  last.  That  new  American 
treatment  for  nerve-shock  has  done  wonders  in  his 
case.  He  sleeps  now;  has  gained  weight  and  his  man- 
ner is  natural  once  more." 

"You  were  lucky  in  your  Vet.  As  a  rule  they  are 
not  partial  to  foreign  treatments." 

"We  don't  owe  it  to  Spencer  at  all — though  he  does 
not  know  it,"  and  Sir  Thomas  proudly  told  the  story 
of  the  management  of  Sir  Andrew.  It  interested 
Romeyne. 

"You  mean  that  tall,  pale,  quick  girl  who  was  in 
the  Hospital  Office  the  day  I  went  in  to  see  Hugh? 


NEW  TRAILS  85 

I  seem  to  remember."  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  never 
forgot  anyone.  "She  must  have  a  head  on  her 
shoulders." 

Sir  Thomas  heartily  agreed.  "She's  very  clever. 
They  are  wonderful  those  people  in  some  ways — 
badly  as  I  think  they  are  behaving  just  now.  But 
this  young  lady.  .  .  .  The  other  day  I  dropped  in 
on  Hugh  just  before  a  debate  and  she  heard  me  say 
that  I  wished  there  had  been  time  to  get  up  some  in- 
cidents and  analogies  from  speeches  in  Parliament 
during  the  Franco-Prussian  War.  No  more  than  that 
— y*  understand?  Just  that  mere  suggestion.  The 
next  day  she  handed  me  this."  He  laid  a  typewritten 
sheet  before  Romeyne,  who  examined  it. 

"Remarkable,  very  remarkable — and  in  the  exact 
type  and  arrangement  to  catch  the  eye  quickly  .  .  . 
in  requisite  order,  too,"  he  observed,  returning  the 
paper  to  its  owner. 

"If  Bolder  had  had  half  that  system  and  reading 
I  should  be  lucky,"  Sir  Thomas  said  regretfully — 
"the  fellow  seems  to  be  of  no  use  at  all — and  now  he's 
going  to  join  up — and  I  must  be  looking  for  another 
muddler." 

"But  why?  It  seems  to  me  you  need  look  no  fur- 
ther," Romeyne  rose  and  picked  up  his  hat  and  stick. 

"But  surely  you  can't  mean ." 

"After  that  slip  you've  just  showed  me?  My  dear 
chap — I'd  jump  at  it.  The  good  secretary  is  born, 
not  made." 

"But  a  woman  1" 

"Pooh,  pooh,  Easterly,  in  these  days!" 

"And  an  American  besides — surely  people  would 
talk — for  my  work  it  would  never  do." 

"I  can't  see  why  not.  An  American  who  stays  on 
here  to  work  for  the  cause  is  hardly  a  neutral.  And 
apart  from  that — apart  from  that,  it  might  be  very 


86        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

useful.  I  should  think  of  it,  if  I  were  you — I  should 
think  of  it." 

Romeyne  left  his  friend's  house  and  turned  his 
steps  toward  Berkeley  Square.  It  was  late  April; 
the  first  green  hung  like  a  mist  over  the  trees,  but  the 
air  was  raw  and  the  sky  full  of  watery  clouds.  As 
he  walked  on  in  his  absorbed  way,  that  large  engine 
his  mind  moved  steadily  on  in  its  task  of  sorting  and 
measuring,  of  generalizing  and  planning.  But  as  he 
knew,  there  was  a  little  place  outside  the  engine-room 
where  his  spirit  often  rested,  and  this  afternoon  it 
took  pleasure  in  the  young  buds  and  in  the  coming  of 
Spring.  His  thoughts  began  to  play  about  the  con- 
versation he  just  had  and  that  led  him  to  comparisons 
between  the  woman  who  helped  and  the  woman  who 
hindered — between  the  woman  who  understood  and 
the  woman  who  didn't.  Astonishing,  that  he  of  all 
men  should  have  failed  to  realize  the  importance 
and  extent  of  this  difference — and  should  have  placed 
mere  money,  and  what  he  supposed  to  be  docility, 
above  it.  Were  such  talents  as  those  of  this  casual 
young  American  really  so  rare  that  he  could  not  have 
hoped  to  secure  something  like  them  in  his  own  wife? 
He  drew  a  sharp  breath,  pricked  by  a  renewed  con- 
sciousness of  stupidity  and  failure;  for  Romeyne  knew 
perfectly  well  that  there  is  small  excuse  for  marrying 
the  wrong  woman. 

In  his  case  the  choice  had  been  largely  the  result 
of  his  early  surroundings.  His  father  had  been  a 
hard-working  Q.  C.  and  his  mother  had  died  too 
early  for  him  to  have  had  any  ideal  of  home  life 
whatever.  His  had  been  a  boyhood  of  schools  and  he 
knew  not  what  to  look  for  in  a  home — except  money 
and  means  to  push  a  political  career.  With  a  failure 
of  judgment,  which  was  the  more  extraordinary  be- 
cause it  happened  so  seldom,  he  had  married  the  first 
eligible  girl  for  whom  he  had  felt  any  inclination  and 


NEW  TRAILS  87 

who  seemed  likely  to  assist  his  fortunes.  It  was  a 
casual  mating  and  was  punished  as  such  are  punished. 
Romeyne's  wife  turned  out  to  be  as  stupid  as  a  sheep 
and  as  obstinate  as  a  mule — it  mattered  little  that  she 
was  also  a  loyal  wife,  for  she  was  neither  a  pleasant 
nor  a  helpful  one.  Romeyne  spent  two  very  trying 
years  during  which  he  gave  her  every  chance,  and  then, 
quite  characteristically,  he  detached  himself,  as  it  were, 
from  the  whole  business;  gave  it  up  as  a  frank  failure 
and  summoned  to  his  relief  that  routine  which  English 
society  has  created  to  handle  these  little  situations. 
Divorce  in  that  country  being  difficult,  separation  is 
proportionately  easy,  and  the  large  size  and  comfor- 
table plan  of  English  houses  makes  it  both  dignified 
and  convenient.  Romeyne  and  his  wife  met  perhaps 
twice  or  thrice  a  week :  at  slightly  longer  intervals  they 
had  quite  amicable  business  interviews  and  there  it 
ended.  The  situation  was  by  no  means  unique; 
Romeyne  had  a  friend  who  went  and  drank  tea  most 
politely  with  his  wife  and  daughter  every  month  or 
so.  Life  being  so  individually  ordered,  poverty  is 
the  only  raison  d'etre  for  divorce.  Romeyne  knew 
that  his  wife  was  too  dull  to  suffer  and  that  the  posi- 
tion he  gave  her  was  compensation  sufficient.  For 
himself,  he  had  suffered  very  much  and  he  would 
suffer  again;  but  he  was  not  only  rather  too  fastidious 
to  take  the  passing  consolation,  but  more  and  more  he 
had  come  to  rely  upon  his  equipoise,  his  serenity:  he 
was  not  going  to  risk  these  by  any  love-affair.  It 
pleased  him  to  feel  that  women  were  not  in  the  least 
necessary  to  him  either  sensually  or  spiritually;  and 
now  that  the  War  had  come,  every  energy  of  his  be- 
ing had  been  absorbed  in  it  and  many  fresh  ones 
created.  He  had  put  that  whole  part  of  life  as  con- 
temptuously on  one  side,  as  if  he  had  been  an  ascetic — 
which  he  was  not  in  the  least.  So,  in  his  own  serene 
manner,  he  was  by  no  means  discontented,  except  per- 


88        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

haps  on  such  a  spring  day  as  this,  when  the  buds  were 
green  and  swollen  and  he  had  just  heard  something 
to  suggest  the  "might-have-beens."  As  it  so  often, 
happened  where  Romeyne  was  concerned,  he  had  let 
drop  an  idea  which  was  later  to  bear  fruit.  Sir 
Thomas  Easterly  went  to  the  next  Debate  in  the 
House  with  the  slips  which  Sydney  Lea  had  typewrit- 
ten for  him,  in  his  vest  pocket;  and  he  was  congratu- 
lated on  the  vigour  and  aptness  of  some  of  his  points, 
on  the  pertinency  of  his  examples.  He  came  home 
in  better  spirits  than  for  some  weeks  and  his  cheery 
face  brought  a  smile  into  that  of  his  son  when  he  went 
down  into  the  country  for  the  week-end. 

When  Sir  Thomas  got  back  to  Charles  Street  on 
the  Monday,  it  was  to  face  an  accumulated  muddle 
left  by  Bolder,  plus  a  layer  of  fresh  work  and  unread 
reports  on  the  top  of  it,  the  very  look  of  which  struck 
him  with  dismay. 

"I've  never  had  this  place  kept  in  decent  order 
since  old  Wilton  died,"  was  his  inward  comment; 
"and  now  what  is  to  be  done?" 

Sir  Thomas  was  a  Conservative  by  temperament 
as  by  conviction  and  such  men  do  not  change  their 
convictions  in  a  hurry.  But  he  was  in  desperate  need ; 
and  he  had  never  yet  found  it  a  mistake  to  follow  out 
any  suggestion  made  by  his  friend  Romeyne.  What 
he  did  was  to  compromise.  He  called  up  Sister  Lucy 
on  the  telephone  and  begged  the  loan  of  that  clever 
Miss  Lea  for  a  few  days — "just  to  get  things  straight- 
ened out  a  bit — and  until  I  get  a  regular  secretary — if 
is  not  inconvenient,  that  is." 

It  was  inconvenient,  of  course,  and  Sister  Lucy 
knew  very  well  what  it  meant.  But  one  cannot  lightly 
refuse  the  Sir  Thomas's  of  this  world,  at  least  not 
while  there  are  so  many  things  needed  for  one's  hos- 
pital. Moreover  she  liked  her  young  assistant  and 
she  had  seen  that  the  girl  was  getting  a  little  restless. 


NEW  TRAILS  89 

"It  is  the  sort  of  work  she  ought  to  do,"  Sister 
Lucy  reflected,  as  she  hastened  from  bed  to  bed.  So 
she  called  Sydney  and  told  her — and  had  she  not  been 
Sister  Lucy,  she  would  have  laughed  when  she  saw 
the  gleam  in  the  girl's  eyes. 

"Don't  forget  to  call  him  Sir  Thomas  and  not  Sir 
Easterly,"  she  said  very  seriously  and  smiled  when 
Sydney  replied,  "I  assure  you  I've  not  studied  the 
Peerage  for  nothing!" 

The  next  night  Sydney  wrote  to  Elizabeth : 

"Do  you  know,  I  feel  just  like  the  Duke's  daughter 
who  became  chauffeur  to  a  Cabinet  Minister.  'You 
must  remember  to  call  me  my  Lord,'  said  he,  very 
sharply;  and  the  story  is  that  she  replied:  'Certainly; 
and  you  will  remember  to  call  me,  my  Lady.' 
I  have  had  the  most  awful  day — like  the  first  chapter 
of  Genesis — but  oh  Bess,  I  feel  sure  that  I  am  going 
to  love  it!" 


BOOK  III 
ADVENTURE 


91 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SYDNEY  did  not  leave  her  work  at  the  Easterly 
house  when  those  few  days  were  ended.  Sir  Thomas 
capitulated.  He  had  seen  order  created  out  of 
chaos,  sluggishness  give  place  to  activity;  consum- 
mate tact  ruled  his  engagements,  he  had  not  been  so 
comfortable  in  years.  The  new  secretary  was  inex- 
perienced, of  course;  there  were  quaint  mistakes  at 
first.  It  takes  time  to  learn  the  intricate  formulae 
by  which  this  social  order  has  been  determined  since 
the  Middle  Ages,  and  whose  knowledge  is  requisite 
to  the  understanding  of  its  complicated  evolution 
both  of  classes  and  persons.  Sydney  must  learn  the 
distinction  between  Lady  Jones,  the  Lady  Jones  and 
the  Hon.  Lady  Jones;  the  difference  between  the 
two  Lords  Curzon,  between  Lord  Grey  and  Sir 
Edward.  There  clung  to  her  in  the  beginning,  a 
certain  attitude  of  amused  detachment  toward  these 
questions,  which  her  employer  found  novel  and  dis- 
trusted. But  this  mattered  little  because  Romeyne 
was  right;  she  was  a  born  secretary  and  the  technique 
of  her  profession,  its  traditions  and  details,  were 
very  quickly  learned. 

Sir  Thomas  could  only  be  thankful  to  have  on 
hand  someone  who  did  not  need  to  be  told  the  spell- 
ing of  "hegira"  or  the  meaning  of  "apocalyptic"; 
who  used  in  se,  or  per  contra  correctly;  who  took 
only  an  hour  for  luncheon  and  fifteen  minutes  for 
tea;  whose  smile  made  his  own  tardiness  or  haste 
less  noticeable  to  his  constituents ;  who  had  read  Mor- 
lev's  Life  of  Gladstone  and  Greville's  Diary;  and 
or  whom  one  rarely  asked  a  date  or  a  quotation  in 
vain.  His  notes  for  the  House  were  handed  him 

93 


94       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

each  afternoon  arrayed  for  instant  reference,  in  dif- 
ferent types  and  on  slips  cut  to  fit  his  pocket  and  his 
hand.  Never  had  he  been  better  equipped,  and  more- 
over a  subtle  feminine  appreciation  governed  his  days 
and  contributed  to  his  well-being.  He  throve:  he 
took  on  several  new  Committees,  and  the  resourceful 
Miss  Lea  was  kept  busy  obtaining  statistics  of  sugar- 
crops  or  investigating  the  dossiers  of  interned  enemy 
aliens.  She  worked  early  and  she  read  late;  she 
studied  movements  and  Blue-books;  she  formed  her 
own  opinion  of  leading  personages.  She  had  an  in- 
fallible flair  for  the  tendencies  of  the  Press.  When 
she  said  "There  is  an  important  speech  by  Senator 
Lodge  in  the  Daily  Telegraph,  Sir  Thomas,"  or 
"Colonel  Repington  in  today's  Times  is  less  sugges- 
tive than  usual,"  her  employer  knew  that  he  must 
read  the  one  and  need  not  read  the  other.  But  above 
all  she  was  faithful  and  tactful,  and  on  fidelity  and 
tact  much  of  a  political  career  depends.  Sydney 
never  let  in  the  wrong  man ;  she  never  mistook  a  La- 
bour Member  for  the  plumber.  In  a  remarkably 
short  time  she  came  to  know  various  personal  idio- 
syncrasies— that  Adrian  Romeyne  never  talked  over 
the  telephone,  and  that  another  of  Sir  Thomas's  in- 
timates, on  the  contrary,  had  not  written  a  note  since 
that  instrument  had  been  available.  She  knew  one 
prominent  M.  P.  who  always  said:  "We  Hamiltons 
never  take  a  'bus  !'  ",  and  the  other  prominent  M.  P. 
who  had  equally  strong  reasons  for  never  taking  a 
taxi.  She  knew  that  the  old  gentleman  who  wore  a 
black  satin  stock  and  lace-ruffles  was  not  a  moving- 
picture  actor,  but  a  functionary  in  the  House  of 
Lords.  She  knew  that  the  other  old  gentleman  who 
wore  a  white  high  hat  and  sat  in  a  victoria  on  Charles 
Street,  holding  an  umbrella  over  his  head  as  a  shield 
against  the  first  pallid  rays  of  spring  sunshine,  was 
not  a  valetudinarian,  but  a  remarkably  hardy  and 


ADVENTURE  95 

hard-working  member  of  the  Cabinet.  She  came 
to  know  the  Red  Cross  Peeress  from  the  Dancing 
or  Tableau  Peeress;  the  lady  who  begged  Sir  Thom- 
as's contribution  to  a  fund  to  teach  the  people  how 
to  cook  rice,  from  the  lady  who  offered  to  introduce 
him  to  the  spirit  of  his  dead  son  in  a  seance. 

It  is  not  to  be  surprised  that  our  heroine  justified 
herself  in  her  new  position  before  some  weeks  had 
past.  There  had  been  opposition  on  Lady  Easter- 
ly's part,  to  the  choice  of  a  woman  secretary.  She 
felt  it  to  be  undignified  and  complained  that  it  made 
her  house  look  like  the  Ministry  of  Shipping.  Also 
she  still  retained  a  dread  of  the  predatory  woman — 
somewhat  intensified,  in  the  present  case  by  the  fact 
that  the  woman  was  an  American  and  attractive. 

"She's  a  quiet,  good  girl,  I  can  see,"  she  protested, 
"but  everybody  knows  what  these  Americans  are. 
I  told  Adrian  that  people  from  the  States  tell  me  its 
impossible  to  keep  that  kind  of  a  girl  in  her  place." 

"And  he  answered    .    .    .    ?" 

"That  it  depended  on  where  the  place  was  and 
it  seemed  usually  to  be  the  Peerage!" 

"Now,  Ada,  do  be  reasonable.  You  have  seen 
for  yourself  what  Miss  Lea  is  like.  Personally, 
I've  never  seen  a  young  person  so  .  .  .so  entirely 
devoid  of  selfconsciousness  or  coquetry.  She  is  simply 
clever  and  competent  and  very  useful  to  me." 

"But  the  boys,  my  dear!" 

"Hugh  is  at  Easterly,  isn't  he?  And  how  much 
time  is  Mid.  likely  to  have  on  leave  to  philander 
with  my  secretary?"  argued  Sir  Thomas,  and  his 
wife  seeing  his  earnestness,  was  shaken.  Certainly, 
it  was  a  great  thing  to  have  his  affairs  so  well  run, 
and  he  looked  undoubtedly  the  better  for  it.  She 
would  just  have  an  eye  on  Miss  Lea  and  see  how  it 
went.  From  time  to  time,  she  dropped  into  the 
office  unawares,  always  with  her  kind  smile  and  watch- 


96       THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

ful  eyes,  to  see  if  Miss  Lea  was  comfortable,  as  she 
said — or  to  suggest  that  if  the  day  was  very  bad  she 
would  send  in  the  tea.  But  she  never  found  any- 
thing to  alarm  her.  Sydney's  manner  toward  her 
employer  was  all  his  wife  could  have  asked  and  dur- 
ing his  absences  she  seemed  so  very  busy — the  type- 
writer sounded  steadily;  and  the  girl  sitting  before 
it  merely  turned  toward  Lady  Easterly  a  friendly 
and  preoccupied  smile.  So  different  from  Bolder, 
idly  lounging  about  the  room  with  a  cigarette  hang- 
ing out  of  his  mouth !  So  Lady  Easterly's  nervous- 
ness vanished,  and  it  was  only  now  and  then  when 
she  caught  glimpses  of  the  fact  that  the  secretary 
did  not  regard  herself  au  fond  as  in  any  different 
class  socially  from  her  employers,  that  she  felt  a 
return  of  uneasiness. 

The  room  where  Sydney  lived  and  worked  was  on 
the  left  hand  of  the  front  door.  It  was  large  and 
square  with  two  big  windows  on  the  street  and 
warmed  by  a  coal-fire,  which  left  always  a  trace  of 
sooty  smell  in  the  air.  This  was  surrounded  by  a 
high  sitting  fender  on  which  Sir  Thomas's  friends 
were  wont  to  perch  like  birds  on  a  wire.  There  were 
large,  high  bookcases  filled  with  pamphlets  and  re- 
ports— all  now  catalogued  in  neat  rows.  The  walls 
were  hung  with  a  miscellany  of  old  prints,  signed 
portraits,  snap-shots  of  pet  horses  and  cartoons  of  the 
past  political  events.  The  Secretary's  desk  and  type- 
writer and  telephone  stood  between  the  windows. 
There  were  big  leather  chairs,  in  one  of  which  Sir 
Thomas  sat  while  he  dictated,  unless  he  called  his 
secretary  into  the  inner  room — his  library,  where 
his  own  desk  and  books  were  kept  and  which  opened 
into  the  "office"  by  double  doors. 

Beyond  these  two  rooms  Sydney  rarely  penetrated. 
She  had  an  impression  of  a  vast  house  full  of  spa- 
cious chambers — a  dining-room  with  dark  paintings 


ADVENTURE  97 

and  shining  silver;  a  drawing-room  with  photographs 
signed  "Maud"  or  "Alexandra,"  full  of  flowers  and 
amazingly  quiet.  The  quiet  of  the  whole  house  was 
wonderful  to  her  after  the  hospital — the  servants  re- 
pressed steps  and  voices,  the  subdued  exit  and  en- 
trance of  many  persons  on  many  errands.  All  that 
summer  of  1915 — the  family  spent  most  of  their 
time  at  Easterly  Park  with  Hugh;  but  their  comings 
and  goings  in  London  were  always  accomplished  in 
a  sort  of  low-toned  and  orderly  tranquillity. 

The  master  of  the  house,  however,  was  not  able 
to  take  any  holiday  beyond  an  occasional  week-end; 
and  his  secretary  never  missed  a  day  at  the  office, 
feeling  her  new  responsibilities,  feeling  as  well  those 
currents  which  vibrated  through  Charles  Street  and 
whose  source  was  in  Flanders  or  in  France.  Their 
fascination  and  horror  gripped  her;  she  felt  that  only 
by  hard,  necessary  work  would  she  be  able  to  keep 
her  head — for  these  were  days  in  which  an  awful 
incredulity  descended  upon  men  and  women  alike — 
when  they  saw  the  Gods  of  things  as  they  are — Gods 
to  which  they  had  entrusted  their  lives — suddenly 
start  mauling  their  civilization  into  pieces.  This 
mauling  was  something  at  which  one  must  not  look, 
if  one  was  to  keep  one's  hope,  one's  sanity.  There- 
fore, Sydney  concentrated  her  thoughts  upon  the 
daily  task,  and  on  the  rather  complicated  routine  it 
necessitated. 

During  this  summer  she  first  tasted  one  keen  plea- 
sure. She  came  to  know  Town;  to  know  her  Lon- 
don; to  take  recondite  joy  in  the  atmosphere  of  this 
most  reticent  of  cities.  London  gives  its  charm,  its 
excitement  little  by  little;  but  to  those  who  read,  it 
soon  becomes  the  only  possible  place  to  live.  Syd- 
ney had  read ;  she  soon  found  that  spiritually  she  was 
a  born  Londoner.  At  a  chance  name  on  a  sign- 
board, something  within  her  thrilled  in  welcome.  All 


98        THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

the  different  quarters,  each  with  its  own  marked  in- 
dividuality,  Chelsea,  retired  within  its  blue  mists; 
the  City,  with  its  roaring  streets,  sharp  lights  and 
black  shadows, — power  streaming  through  it  swift 
and  terrible,  as  water  pours  over  Niagara;  Mayfair, 
touched  with  wealth  and  stateliness,  though  wearing 
these  today  with  an  air  of  apology;  the  parks, 
crowded  in  all  their  open  spaces,  above  them  a  pale, 
wide  sky,  blown  upon  with  faint  clouds;  Soho,  sin- 
ister and  romantic — at  once  sordid  and  gay, — all 
these  she  came  to  know  and  love.  She  took  a  never- 
ending  pleasure  in  the  tiny,  independent  shops,  each 
subsisting  by  a  few  old  customers  and  suspicious  of 
any  new.  Above  all  was  she  awed  by,  and  conscious 
of  that  enormous  reserve  power,  that  stable  and  en- 
during mass  which  strengthened  the  whole  vast  com- 
munity, which  meant  the  Empire.  This  was  the 
burden  of  that  Babylon,  as  it  was  beheld  of  the 
prophet;  and  there  were  moments  when,  as  she  hur- 
ried through  the  restless  and  swollen  streets,  she 
recalled  the  wild  words  of  the  prophecy,  and  shiv- 
ered. Was  this  also  to  pass?  Was  it  "to  become 
heaps?"  as  in  the  old  poet's  words,  or  "one  with 
Ninevefi  and  Tyre,"  as  in  the  words  of  the  new? 
The  very  confidence,  the  very  steadfastness  of  the 
people,  their  refusal  to  be  shaken  or  to  be  alarmed 
or  be  worried  or  to  be  changed — held  at  times  for 
her,  a  certain  doubt  and  terror. 

Such  thoughts  and  feelings  brought  with  them  a 
new  sensitiveness  and  a  new  quickening  of  the  spirit. 

Outwardly,  the  days  moved  steadily  one  after  the 
other,  warm  and  still.  Miss  Violand  paid  her  usual 
visit  to  Yorkshire  leaving  Giddy  in  charge  of  Miss 
Lea;  to  the  latter's  profit  and  delight.  Giddy  by 
this  time  had  adopted  the  American  girl  into  the 
family,  with  all  the  scoldings  and  cossetings  which 
that  adoption  implied.  Both  she  and  her  mistress 


ADVENTURE  99 

had  been  much  impressed  with  the  heightened  con- 
sequence of  Sydney's  new  position  in  the  world. 

"It  is  amazing,  mem,"  as  Giddy  said  "what  young 
ladies  will  be  doing  with  themselves!"  And  Miss 
Violand  agreed  that  it  was  indeed  amazing.  She 
regarded  her  young  guest  with  new  eyes;  asked  her 
opinion  of  political  events  and  heard  the  chance  ru- 
mours which  eddied  through  the  corridors  of  West- 
minster Hall,  with  a  respectful  attention. 

Nor  did  she  resent  it,  as  she  might  once  have 
done,  when  her  nephew  began  to  pay  the  American 
girl  somewhat  decided  attention,  even  though  Miss 
Violand  could  not  forget  that  earlier  in  his  career, 
young  Eric  had  made  a  markedly  unsuccessful  at- 
tempt to  fill  a  position  similar  to  the  one  Sydney 
was  now  holding.  The  girl  did  not  suffer  by  com- 
parison, and  Miss  Violand  was  not  unwilling  when 
she  went  about  with  the  boy  a  little  and  met  some 
of  his  friends.  One  of  these  was  a  handsome  girl 
named  Hilda  Fredericks  who  interested  Sydney  be- 
cause she  was  a  musician,  had  her  memory  well  filled 
with  poetry,  and  seemed  altogether  cultivated  and 
charming.  Some  weeks  after  young  Violand  had 
returned  to  the  Front,  Miss  Fredericks  made  Sydney 
a  visit,  during  which  she  talked  very  graciously;  and 
soon  afterwards  there  came  from  her  an  invitation 
to  dinner. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SIR  JACOB  and  Lady  Fredericks  lived  in  Portland 
Place,  fairly  near  to  Regent's  Park,  and  thither 
Sydney  found  her  way  on  the  appointed  evening.  A 
subdued  Orientalism  made  itself  felt  in  the  decora- 
tions; there  was  a  drawing-room  done  in  the  Moorish 
manner,  with  doorways  copied  after  the  Alhambra, 
the  effect  somewhat  marred  by  the  introduction  of 
obese  blue  satin  furniture.  There  was  a  marble  hall 
filled  with  artificial  plants ;  and  the  newel-post  was  a 
Moor  of  carved  ebony,  dressed  in  silver  and  hold- 
ing an  electric  light.  On  either  side  of  the  dining- 
room  door  there  were  stands  of  stuffed  pheasants 
under  glass,  with  a  plate  bearing  the  inscription  that 
they  had  been  shot  and  presented  to  the  owner  of 
the  house  by  the  late  monarch  Edward  VII.  Syd- 
ney was  to  learn,  as  she  went  on,  very  much  to  the 
credit  of  that  tactful  sovereign,  whose  habit  it  was 
to  leave  such  relics  of  himself  among  many  similar 
,  families.  Was  it  his  association  with  Royalty  which 
made  Sir  Jacob  so  very  guttural?  Such  things  had 
been.  A  certain  waving  gesture  of  Queen  Alexandra's 
has  been  adopted  by  hosts  of  elderly  ladies  wearing 
tangled  auburn  fringes  and  dog-collars  of  jet  or  dia- 
monds, as  their  means  permitted.  Sir  Jacob  wore  his 
greyish  beard  trimmed  to  a  point:  he  had  small, 
twinkling,  very  shrewd  eyes  under  drooping  lids,  and 
he  chatted  to  the  girl  who  sat  beside  him  at  dinner, 
with  childlike  bonhomie  and  overflowing  kindness. 
The  dinner  was  Edwardian :  there  was  lace  and  pink 
ribbon  and  pink  candles  on  the  table  and  the  food 
came  in  on  a  series  of  little  objects,  like  a  collection 
at  a  museum.  When  you  thought  you  had  made  an 

100 


ADVENTURE  101 

end  with  pudding,  you  were  daunted  by  an  ice  in  a  little 
cup ;  and  when  that  was  over  you,  apparently,  took  a 
fresh  start  with  some  hot  grated  ham.  Although  the 
party  consisted  only  of  one  other  guest  besides  her- 
self, her  host,  his  wife  and  family,  yet  they  solemnly 
entered  the  dining-room  in  procession  and  the  little 
dabs  of  food  pursued  their  appointed  path  into  eight 
or  nine  courses  and  were  served  by  a  butler  named 
Beresford  and  a  footman  named  Wilhelm.  Then  the 
cloth  was  removed  and  cigars  and  liqueurs  brought 
for  the  gentlemen,  while  the  ladies  retired  to  music  in 
the  drawing-room  "all  in  the  good  old  English  way," 
as  Sir  Jacob  put  it. 

During  dinner  he  talked  about  the  War  and  his  own 
patriotic  views  thereon ;  shooting  at  the  secretary,  now 
and  again,  little  questions  which  vaguely  irritated  her. 
"Sir  Thomas  must  be  very  busy  these  days.  Had  he 
much  trouble  with  these  dangerous  aliens?  ...  It 
was  indeed  a  pity  that  England  had  ever  allowed  her- 
self to  be  dragged  into  Continental  quarrels.  England 
for  the  English — is  my  dictum !  If  I  could,  I  would 
build  a  ten  foot  wall  around  the  whole  Island — 
already — "and  so  on. 

These  were  the  days  when  England  regarded  the 
Germans  in  her  midst  as  one  regards  a  friend  whose 
mother  has  suddenly  developed  homicidal  mania — 
that  is  to  say,  as  sufferers  whose  misfortune  one  must 
endeavor  to  alleviate.  So  there  was  nothing  about  Sir 
Jacob  or  his  conversation  to  which  Sydney  felt  she  had 
any  right  to  object.  Many  people  besides  the  Ger- 
man-English were  "little  Englanders" — and  it  was  not 
expected  of  the  Fredericks  family  that  they  should 
feel  any  especial  sympathy  for  France.  She  had  heard 
that  the  man  beside  her  had  been  most  generous  in  his 
gifts  to  War  Charities  and  she  kept  telling  herself  that 
she  had  no  right  to  be  so  irritated.  Yet  she  was  ir- 
ritated, and  her  replies  grew  so  brief,  that  Sir  Jacob 


102     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

put  her  down  as  frightened  by  the  company  in  which 
she  found  herself;  and,  so  being  very  kind  hearted  and 
jolly,  he  took  her  himself  to  the  cases  of  pheasants 
and  the  portrait  of  their  slayer  wearing  a  kilt,  and 
side-whiskers,  and  beautiful,  shining  boots — and  ex- 
plained to  her  all  the  graciousness  of  that  great  and 
good  potentate. 

Lady  Fredericks  wore  a  stiff,  high-necked  frock  and 
had  evidently  not  been  able  to  learn  from  her  husband 
any  of  thejaisser-aller  of  the  '80s.  Her  daughter 
Hilda,  who  was  handsome  as  well  as  intelligent,  made 
a  display  of  shoulders  for  both.  Her  son  Hugo  was 
not  in  khaki :  Sir  Jacob  hinted  vaguely  that  he  had  "a 
weakness"  and  he  himself  told  Sydney  that,  while  it 
was  true  the  Board  had  deprived  themselves  of  his 
services  with  the  utmost  reluctance,  yet  they  had  un- 
animously agreed  that  unless  the  crisis  grew  more 
acute — it  would  be  suicidal  to  deprive  the  nation  of 
his  abilities  in  business. 

"He  works  ever  so  late,"  said  his  mother  gently, 
"and  he  has  given  up  his  golf  already." 

Hugo  himself  brushed  aside  these  sacrifices  as  of  no 
moment,  but  his  eyes,  behind  the  gold  eye-glasses  were 
full  of  weariness.  The  other  person  present — beside 
a  silent  little  sister  with  a  fair  plait  hanging  over  her 
shoulders,  was  a  young  man  also  not  in  uniform. 
His  name  was  Gualtier  Delaplaine — (not  Walter,  as 
he  carefully  explained  to  Sydney),  and  he  also  con- 
veyed to  her  that  the  various  fragments  of  verse  which 
she  might  have  noticed  in  the  periodicals  (but  hadn't 
under  the  signature  G.  D.)  were  none  other  than  his 
own.  He  had  a  round,  flat,  smooth  face  and  a  mild 
lisping  voice;  lived  in  Hampstead,  and  was  "trying 
very  hard,"  as  he  said,  "not  to  allow  himself  to  be- 
come unbalanced  by  the  present  crisis."  She  received 
the  impression  that  his  efforts  had  been  crowned  with 
complete  success. 


ADVENTURE  103 

He  talked  a  good  deal,  and  very  well,  in  a  drawling 
monotone — gathering  up  into  his  conversation  some 
of  the  literary  and  academic  flotsam  and  jetsam  which 
had  been  uprooted  by  the  storm  and  lay  tossing  on 
these  great  tides,  temporarily  quite  disregarded — and 
he  had  the  effect  of  making  Sir  Thomas's  secretary 
feel  very  uncultivated  and  provincial.  If  one  men- 
tioned Ypres  he  said  only  that  he  was  disappointed. in 
the  French,  the  War  had  made  them  banale.  If  one 
spoke  of  Italy — he  was  glad  to  quote  d'Annunzio's 
last  gorgeous  ode:  but  if  one  alluded  to  Belgium  then 
he  was  either  altogether  silent  in  a  superior  manner — 
or  joined  with  his  host  in  deprecating  the  sentimen- 
tality of  England  which  had  led  her  into  the  quarrel. 
Once  or  twice  he  alluded  to  the  United  States  of 
America  as  a  country  which  lamentably  failed  to  ap- 
preciate the  vital  importance  of  Chinese  lacquer, — 
and  in  a  manner  so  openly  contemptuous  that  Sydney 
found  it  hard  to  bear.  The  novelty  of  her  sensation 
caused  her  to  realize  that  this  was  the  very  first  time 
she  had  met  with  the  arrogance,  which  she  remem- 
bered having  read  and  heard  of  as  typically  English; 
and  she  bore  Mr.  Gualtier  Delaplaine  no  good-will 
for  the  introduction.  Later  in  the  evening,  she  learned 
to  her  stupefaction,  that  he  had  been  born  and 
brought  up  in  Harrisburg,  Pennsylvania. 

The  atmosphere  of  the  talk  and  of  the  house  was 
entirely  different  to  that  which  she  had  become  ac- 
customed at  the  Easterly's  or  Miss  Violand's  and 
which  regarded  the  War  as  the  great  raison  d'etre  of 
existence.  To  tell  just  where  this  difference  lay  was 
not  so  easy,  but  chiefly  in  the  fact  that  in  this  house 
the  War  was  not  the  raison  d'etre  of  existence  but 
rather  a  catastrophe  which  had  broken  an  important 
friendship,  interfered  with  vital  plans,  and  might 
have  been  avoided  for  the  quixotic  ignorance  of  a  few 
Englishmen,  who  had  not  had  the  superior  advan- 


104     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

tages  of  birth  and  education  enjoyed  by  Sir  Jacob 
himself.  This  appeared  to  be  an  intellectual  convic- 
tion rather  than  anything  more  personal;  but  it  was 
also  true  that  in  finding  England  to  be  an  entirely 
separate  and  distinct  country  from  that  Germany 
from  whom  she  had  been  content  to  take  her  rulers 
for  several  generations — had  been  a  real  shock  to  Sir 
Jacob,  who  had  honestly  regarded  the  two  nations  as 
practically  one.  If  this  were  true,  then  to  his  mind 
the  disloyalty  was  England's — or  as  he  preferred  to 
say,  very  handsomely,  the  Government's. 

In  all  this  there  was  not  a  word  which  could  offend 
anyone — like  Sydney — whose  feelings  were  more  ig- 
norant and  conventional — and  there  was  certainly  no 
hint  of  hoping  for  a  German  victory.  Peace  by  ar- 
rangement— between  two  great  nations  who  had 
nothing  to  gain  and  much  to  lose  by  stupidly  con- 
tinuing a  fight  which  chiefly  concerned  their  lesser  and 
unimportant  neighbors ;  peace  by  arrangement  making 
for  a  durable  future  alliance — this  was  the  Fredericks, 
ideal — and  even  this  was  very  mildly  advocated  so 
that  it  had  the  effect  of  apparently  turning  anyone 
who  opposed  it  into  a  bloodthirsty  rattlepate.  So  at 
least,  the  young  American  felt. 

After  dinner  they  went  into  the  Moorish  drawing- 
room,  opened  the  piano,  and  then  Hilda  with  her 
sister,  their  brother  with  his  violin,  made  the  loveliest 
music  together.  It  was  played  with  such  simplicity 
and  skill,  with  such  enthusiasm  for  the  works  of  art 
they  interpreted,  and  such  an  absence  of  self-conscious- 
ness as  to  be  altogether  delightful.  The  pleasure 
which  this  performance  gave  to  the  parents  was  no  less 
agreeable  to  witness.  Sydney  Lea  enjoyed  it  all  in- 
tensely; and  it  was  certainly  odd  that  as  she  went 
homeward  on  top  of  a  bus  through  the  pale  summer 
night,  the  Chopin  phrases  still  sounded  in  her  ears — 
she  should  have  told  herself  that  nothing  would  in- 


ADVENTURE  105 

duce  her  to  visit  the  house  again.  She  mentioned  the 
occasion  to  Sir  Thomas  next  morning  and  he  looked 
at  her,  over  his  eye-glasses  to  ask  "And  what  did  you 
think  of  him?" 

"I  thought  him  perfectly  detestable  1"  she  replied 
with  vigour,  and  her  employer  gasped  and  murmured 
"Oh  did  you,  really?"  in  a  tone  suggestive  of  disap- 
proval. Owing  to  this  feeling,  Sydney  certainly  re- 
ceived no  impression  that  she  had  exercised  any  at- 
traction for  Mr.  Gualtier  Delaplaine,  and  she  was 
distinctly  surprised  when  he  called  on  her  one  Sunday 
afternoon  a  week  or  two  later.  However,  she  pre- 
sented him  to  Miss  Violand  who  received  him 
graciously  and  asked  him  to  stay  to  tea.  He  talked 
in  a  lively  anecdotal  fashion  about  Bernard  Shaw  and 
George  Moore  and  James  Joyce,  and  the  illness  of 
Mr.  Arthur  Symons  and  the  mistaken  absorption  in 
War  work  of  many  promising  writers;  and  he  pro- 
nounced the  house  and  interior  "most  wonderful," 
congratulating  her  on  her  setting  and  atmosphere 
which  "in  London,"  he  declared,  "is  more  than  half 
the  battle."  In  fact,  he  made  himself  very  agreeable 
and  showed  nothing  at  all  of  that  disbelief  in  the  War 
or  in  England,  which  had  jarred  on  her  at  dinner  and 
which  would  have  infuriated  Miss  Violand.  He  was 
tactful  and  amusing:  but  at  the  same  time,  after  he 
had  departed,  Sydney  was  conscious  of  a  certainty  that 
he  had  come  with  a  purpose  although  that  purpose  had 
not  been  mentioned.  She  forgot  him  altogether  with- 
out the  slightest  difficulty,  until  one  hot  afternoon  a 
fortnight  later  as  she  took  a  turn  in  Kensington  Gar- 
dens after  her  work  was  done,  when  he  suddenly 
appeared  out  of  nowhere  and  joined  her.  The  round, 
flat  face  and  lisping  voice  of  this  strange  Pennsyl- 
vanian  puzzled  her  not  a  little,  but  he  talked  to  her 
gaily  and  pleasantly  as  they  strolled  along  under  the 
great  trees. 


io6      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

"So  you  are  the  very  remarkable  young  lady  every- 
body is  talking  about,"  remarked  Mr.  Delaplaine 
after  a  pause.  She  was  amused.  "Am  I  really — and 
in  what  way?" 

"Oh,  secretary  to  an  influential  M.  P.  you  know!" 

"That  isn't  remarkable  when  one  thinks  of  what 
women  are  doing." 

"They  say  he  never  makes  a  move  without  your 
advice!" 

"Who  says  so?" 

But  Mr.  Delaplaine  did  not  choose  to  answer  that 
question.  "It  must  be  exciting  to  have  any  influence 
nowadays  and  I  think  you're  awfully  lucky,"  he  con- 
tinued half-enviously.  "It  is  a  job  I  should  have 
been  very  glad  to  have  myself,  let  me  tell  you,  if  only 
I  had  known  how  to  set  about  it — but  these  English 
are  so  clannish!" 

"No  doubt  you  could,  if — "  her  politeness  failed 
her  for  the  moment,  but  he  never  noticed  her  hesi- 
tation. 

"Oh,  of  course  there's  no  doubt  of  my  fitness  for  it 
— I  assure  you"  he  hastened  to  tell  her.  "I'm  a  grad- 
uate of  Lehigh — .  But  its  meeting  that  sort  of  people 
— How  in  the  world  did  you  manage  it?  How  did 
you  first  get  hold  of  this  old  chap?" 

She  had  delicate  fibres,  had  Sydney,  fastidious,  in- 
visible antennae  which  touched  something  in  this 
speech  and  put  her,  inexperienced  as  she  was,  wholly 
on  her  guard.  So  her  answer  was  rather  vague — she 
didn't  know — she  had  heard  that  Sir  Thomas  needed 
a  typist  and  so  on.  Silence  followed  for  a  moment. 
They  walked  on  in  the  level  sun  rays  that  pierced  be- 
tween the  tree-trunks  and  Mr.  Delaplaine  appeared 
to  consider  the  beauties  of  nature. 

"I  don't  suppose  he  pays  you  very  much,"  was  his 
next  observation. 

"Not  very  much." 


ADVENTURE  107 

"Well,  that's  the  custom,  you  know,  in  this 
country,"  explained  he,  waving  his  stick  at  a  mild 
faced  sheep  standing  contemplatively  in  their  path; 
"they  never  pay  high  salaries  for  this  kind  of  a  job 
because  there  are  so  many  perquisities  attached  to 
them." 

"Perquisites?"  she  repeated,  puzzled. 

"Yes — perquisites,  privileges,  extras — fees  ar- 
ranged for  by  custom,  you  know!" 

"It's  hard  to  see  what  perquisites  there  could  pos- 
sibly be  to  a  post  like  mine." 

Mr.  Delaplaine  found  her  ignorance  naive  indeed. 
"My  dear  Miss  Lea — you  need  instruction,"  said  he 
lightly.  "You  don't  know  England  yet — do  you? 
Tradition  has  settled  all  this  for  generations.  Else 
how  could  clever  men — University  men — afford  to 
take  such  positions  ?  Had  you  ever  thought  of  that  ?" 

"Not  in  that  light,  I  confess." 

"Well — now  you  understand.  It  is  all  quite  above 
board  and  understood — quite  expected.  Indeed  it's  a 
part  of  the  game." 

"Still,  I  don't  quite  understand — ." 

"Ah  but  it's  easily  explained,"  he  began  to  enlighten 
her — "You  see — the  secretary  is  there  to  come  in  con- 
tact  first  with  everybody  who  sees  the  M.  P.  She 
hears  what  is  wanted  and  all  that.  Well,  of  course, 
she  makes  up  her  mind  whether  it's  a  good  thing  or 
not;  so  then  she  can  easily  persuade  the  M.  P. — Sir 
Thomas,  for  example,  to  see  the  thing  as  she  does. 
Naturally,  she  should  expect  to  be  paid  for  her 
trouble." 

"Oh  I  see!  Yes,  I  know  that's  done  in  Russia." 
Her  tone  was  enigmatical  and  some  quality  in  it 
caused  her  companion  to  glance  at  her  and  to  repeat 
that  this  custom  was  sanctioned  by  tradition. 

"It  isn't  like  Russia  in  the  least — because  the  peo- 
ple are  different,"  he  proceeded.  "A  great  deal  of 


io8      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

the  actual  work  falls  on  the  secretary  and  this  is 
simply  a  means  of  payment — like  a  commission  in 
business.  They  make  salaries  low  to  allow  for  it. 
I've  a  friend  named  Belby,  for  instance — whose  chief 
has  a  portfolio  in  the  Cabinet.  He  gets  a  mere  trifle 
but  the  perquisites  make  Belby's  post  worth 
while." 

"Evidently,"  said  Sydney  with  a  smile,  "I  have 
wasted  many  opportunities  out  of  ignorance,  haven't 
I?" 

Mr.  Gualtier  Delaplaine  was  a  great  amateur  of 
irony,  on  paper,  and  had  been  know  to  declare  that 
Gibbon  and  Swift  were  the  passion  of  his  life.  But 
he  had  formed  an  opinion  of  this  somewhat  reserved, 
though  charming  young  countrywoman,  which  did  not 
admit  of  his  recognizing  it  from  her  lips.  Hilda 
Fredericks  had  told  him  that  Sydney  though  clever 
was  extremely  American,  with  small  knowledge  of 
the  great  world.  In  Mr.  Delaplaine's  opinion,  his  own 
knowledge  of  that  great  world  was  immeasurable  and 
complete.  He  walked  on  for  a  few  paces  and  then 
changed  the  subject. 

"Charming  people,  the  Fredericks?" 

She  agreed. 

"So  musical — so  up  in  everything!  And  rich!" 
he  drew  a  breath  of  exhilaration  at  the  very  thought. 
"Awfully  generous,  too,  Sir  Jacob  always  is.  There's 
a  man  I'd  like  to  oblige,  let  me  tell  you.  He  never 
forgets  a  favor." 

"I've  heard,"  replied  Sydney,  "that  he  has  given  a 
deal  to  the  Red  Cross." 

"And  to  everything  else.  Belby  tells  me  that 
Rounceton's  private  secretary  has  been  made  for  life 
by  just  helping  Sir  Jacob  over  a  matter  in  the  city, 
they  say  he  has  been  set  up  for  good  and  all — but  here 
we  are  at  the  Dairy — is  it  too  late  for  some  tea  ?" 

"I  fear  so,"  she  looked  at  her  watch  and  then  at 


ADVENTURE  109 

her  companion  regretfully.  "I  must,  unfortunately  get 
a  'bus  back — there  are  letters  to  go  before  the  evening 
post.  I'm  so  sorry!" 

Those  invisible  guardians  had  warned  her  not  to 
snub  the  man  and  she  obeyed  them,  though  it  took 
self-control.  She  left  him,  standing  with  a  smile  on 
his  flat  face,  and  as  she  hurried  down  the  path  two 
spots  of  angry  red  burned  in  her  cheeks.  .  .  .  Per- 
haps one  should  not  exaggerate,  however.  ...  "I 
suppose,"  she  thought,  "he's  just  a  common  man  who 
knows  no  better.  I  must  try  and  forget  his  friend 
Belby  and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

It  was  for  a  short  time  only,  however,  that  she 
succeeded. 


CHAPTER  XV 

FORTUNATELY  for  Sydney,  this  strange  talk  with 
Mr.  Gualtier  Delaplaine  in  Kensington  Gardens  was 
not  the  only  reminder  that  the  position  of  private 
secretary  to  a  man  in  political  life  has  its  own  dig- 
nities. Under  peace  conditions,  Sir  Thomas  would 
unquestionably  have  selected  for  such  a  post,  the  son 
or  the  nephew  of  a  friend  or  colleague — some  charm- 
ing boy,  with  a  delightful  profile  and  the  cultivated 
drawl  of  his  caste, — who  would  have  regarded  it  as 
the  starting-point  of  a  political  career,  and  whose 
leisure  would  have  been  much  occupied  with  social 
engagements,  among  which  dinners  at  his  Chief's 
house  would  have  been  prominent. 

Now,  this  side  of  life  came  late  into  Miss  Lea's 
experience,  partly  because  she  in  no  way  assumed  or 
expected  it  and  partly  because,  when  he  made  the  de- 
parture and  engaged  a  woman,  Sir  Thomas  had  acted 
under  pressure  of  the  hardest  bout  of  work  he  had  yet 
known,  and  all  subsidiary  aspects  had  sunk  out  of  sight 
for  the  time  being.  Sydney's  predecessor,  the  well- 
connected  Charles  Bolder,  had  been  a  congenital  in- 
competent, who,  but  for  Sir  Thomas's  dislike  of 
change,  would  long  ago  have  been  obliged  to  seek  an- 
other employment.  The  reaction  toward  training  and 
practical  sense  which  had  led  Sir  Thomas  to  choose 
Miss  Lea  for  her  present  position,  had  been  too 
strong  to  take  anything  else  into  consideration  by 
comparison.  In  Sydney's  American  view,  a  secretary 
was  no  more  than  a  sort  of  confidential  upper  clerk. 
The  conversation  in  the  last  chapter  had  been  a  great 
surprise  to  her  as  well  as  a  disagreeable  shock;  and  it 
showed  her  the  importance  which  many  people  at- 

110 


ADVENTURE  in 

tached  to  her  present  work.  The  effect  of  it  was  to 
make  her  become  rather  more  conscientious  than  be- 
fore. Certainly  she  was  the  last  person  to  feel  that 
she  should  be  included  in  any  entertainment,  although 
it  was  natural  for  her  to  enjoy  such  a  chance,  if  it 
came. 

By  reason  of  her  evident  unconsciousness  of  such 
things — and  no  doubt  because  things  were  so  different 
since  the  War  and  entertaining  from  the  classic  stand- 
point had  all  but  ceased — the  occasion  was  long  in 
arriving.  Lady  Easterly  held  a  reception  to  some 
visiting  French  Committee  of  Women  War  Workers, 
at  which  Sydney  made  herself  exceedingly  useful.  A 
certain  quality  of  fineness  in  her  personality  met  with 
an  instant  response  among  the  Latin  guests,  set  them 
at  ease,  and  lightened  the  hostess's  burdens.  With  all 
the  will  in  the  world,  Lady  Easterly  had  never  found 
it  an  easy  or  congenial  task  to  entertain  foreigners, 
who  had  such  a  perplexing  way  of  looking  baffled  or 
discouraged  just  because  one's  expression  of  face  did 
not  change;  and  the  more  Lady  Easterly  felt  this,  the 
more  wooden  she  became.  Her  graciousness  and 
kindness,  which  were  very  real,  seemed  absolutely  in- 
capable of  expression ;  and  so  she  was  very  grateful  to 
Miss  Lea.  She  noted  how  Sydney  flitted  lightly  hither 
and  yon  with  a  smile  sparkling  in  dark  eyes  and  lifting 
a  delicate  lip,  never  at  a  loss  for  some  phrase  of 
amateur  French,  for  which  the  humour  in  her  face 
more  than  atoned. 

"She  was  of  the  greatest  use  to  me,  Thomas,"  Lady 
Easterly  assured  her  husband.  "Of  course  you  know 
the  Americans  are  much  more  like  the  French  than 
we  are  and  they  get  on  with  them  somehow — "  an 
opinion  she  continued  to  maintain  against  her  hus- 
band's rather  warm  disagreement. 

It  was  several  months  after  this  reception  that 
Sydney  received  her  first  formal  invitation  to  dine  af 


ii2      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

the  Easterly's.  She  was  interested  in  hearing  from 
Janey  that  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Romeyne  were  coming 
— this  being  one  of  the  few  houses  left  in  London 
which  kept  up  the  pretence  that  they  lived  together — 
"which  Mother  does"  Janey  added,  "because  she's 
fond  of  him  and  afraid  of  her." 

Miss  Lea  had  no  preconception  in  the  matter  of 
English  dinners  and  it  will  be  recalled  that  so  far  her 
life  had  held  few  dinners  of  any  description.  Once 
she  had  made  her  slightly  timid  entry  into  the  spacious 
and  sacred  drawing-room  that  stretched  all  across  the 
second  floor  of  the  'house,  she  was  content  to  become 
a  quiet  observer  of  this  new  scene.  The  lack  of  any 
kind  of  introductions  which  so  often  outrages  Ameri- 
can feelings — particularly  when  they  take  this  custom 
of  the  country  for  a  personal  slight — immensely  sur- 
prised her,  for  she  seemed  to  herself  to  have  entered 
the  wood  in  Alice  where  nothing  has  a  name.  Since 
perforce  she  held  the  naive  view  of  the  new  world 
that  such  gatherings  as  these  were  primarily  intended 
for  pleasure  and  social  intercourse,  she  was  perplexed 
at  the  persistence  of  a  custom  which  so  interfered  with 
this  end.  Later,  she  came  to  realize  that  they  are 
nothing  of  the  sort  and  no  more  designed  with  a  view 
to  mutual  enjoyment  than  is  a  church  service. 

Such  ritualistic  assemblages  as  it  was  Sydney's  for- 
tune to  witness  were  effectually  brought  to  an  end  later 
on  in  the  War,  by  the  food  situation,  and  came  to  be 
replaced  by  small  gatherings  of  intimates.  By  this 
means  the  stiffness  of  centuries  was  done  away  with  in 
six  months  or  so,  and  the  English  nation  became  as 
simply  and  spontaneously  gregarious  as  if  it  had  never 
known  the  infliction  of  those  solemn  parties  which 
even  Thackerayan  satire  had  failed  to  kill.  As  Miss 
Lea,  then,  was  presented  to  nobody,  save  the  man  who 
sat  on  her  left  hand  at  the  table,  she  had  an  uninter- 
rupted chance  to  survey  the  room.  She  had  heard  a 


ADVENTURE  113 

good  deal  of  lamentation  about  the  necessity  of  simpli- 
fying both  the  food  and  the  decorations,  together  with 
complaint  that  nothing  could  be  done  as  it  ought; 
but  to  her  provincial  view  the  standard  remained  that 
of  the  utmost  opulence.  Smith  and  the  two  assistant 
parlour-maids,  the  flowers  sent  down  from  Easterly 
Park,  and — when  she  sat  down  to  it — the  wines  and 
the  dinner — scarcely  needed  apology,  unless  it  were 
ironical.  They  all  represented  a  scale  of  living  which 
was  hard  to  reconcile  with  what  she  knew  to  be  the 
devoted  patriotism  and  honest  desire  for  self-sacrifice 
of  Sir  Thomas  and  his  wife,  whose  minds  simply 
were  unable  to  adjust  themselves  other  than  very 
gradually,  to  the  irresistible  logic  in  the  situation  of 
a  beleagured  England.  Parlour-maids  instead  of 
footmen,  five  or  six  courses  instead  of  ten,  four  wines 
instead  of  a  dozen  were  in  their  view  a  revolutionary 
programme — but  one  that  bore  small  relation  to  what 
the  secretary  felt  might  have  been  done.  Sydney 
meditated  over  all  this,  and  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  whereas  luxury  was  greater  in  her  own  country, 
yet  it  was  not  taken  for  granted,  as  in  England,  but 
remained  always  an  extra.  Won  by  somebody — pre- 
sumably the  master  of  the  house,  such  opulence  in  the 
States  may  be  more  vulgar,  more  self  conscious — yet 
always  remains  luxury  and  is  not,  as  here,  masked  un- 
der the  habitual  guise  of  necessity. 

With  these  thoughts  in  her  mind,  Miss  Lea  admired 
the  fine  proportions  of  the  room  and  its  air  of  dignity 
— the  lights,  set  in  tall  vases  of  Chinese  crackle;  the 
furniture,  which  was  of  a  type  that  only  needs  re- 
covering once  in  a  generation;  the  pictures  of  one 
or  two  by-gone  Easterlys  with  ruddy  18th  Century 
faces;  and  some  rather  painful  watercolours  by  Janey, 
who  had  devoted  herself  to  the  art  until  laughed  out 
of  it  by  her  brother  Hugh.  In  this  setting  the  guests 
tranquilly  disposed  themselves.  She  saw  the 


114      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

Romeynes,  the  wife  dressed  in  vivid  green,  veiled  with 
sequins  and  wearing  a  collar  of  opals  set  in  rubies,  her 
dark  red  hair  swathed  in  a  tight  green  bandage  which 
threw  into  relief  'her  heavy,  unamiable  features.  The 
husband  stood  on  the  hearthrug  beside  his  host,  cool, 
aloof, — talking  behind  his  moustache  in  a  way  he  had 
which  Sydney  knew  meant  that  he  was  not  pleased. 

In  conversation  with  Lady  Easterly  were  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Pember  Ohyne.  He  was  a  tall  man  with  an 
able  face,  melancholy  eyes  under  heavy  brows  and  a 
white  beard  trimmed  to  a  point.  His  very  low  Oxford 
voice  prevented  most  people  from  ever  hearing  the 
end  of  his  sentences.  An  editor  of  one  of  the  impor- 
tant Reviews,  he  had  resigned  at  the  beginning  of 
1915  to  take  a  position  under  the  Minister  of  Agri- 
culture. His  wife  was  a  tiny  woman,  whose  vivid, 
irregular  face  sparkled  with  animation,  and  whose 
soft,  ejaculatory  voice  held  notes  like  those  of  a  bird. 
With  her  black  frock  she  wore  a  set  of  delicate  seed- 
pearl  ornaments — long  dangling  ear-rings,  a  brooch, 
a  necklace — intricate  and  subtle  in  their  design  to 
suit  her  personality.  Her  quick  movements,  the  mo- 
bility or  her  fine  face  and  expressive  hands,  gave 
Sydney  a  fascinated  sense  of  watching  some  master- 
piece of  art;  yet  Rhoda  Pember  Chyne  was  the  most 
unaffected  of  women  and  one  who  fulfilled  herself  to 
the  delight  of  a  large  circle  of  friends.  She  bore  so 
plainly  the  Celtic  imprint  that  no  one — save  perhaps 
an  American — but  was  aware  that  she  was  Irish.  She 
turned  from  her  hostess  to  greet  a  youngish  man 
named  James  Spangler,  who  was  a  Labour  Member, 
had  large  feet  and  hands,  and  spoke  with  the  utmost 
deliberation  in  the  broadest  Yorkshire.  Sydney  had 
been  present  during  a  discussion  concerning  him  which 
had  preceded  his  invitation  and  which  had  much 
amused  her.  She  felt  she  knew  exactly  why  he  was 
there. 


ADVENTURE  115 

It  was  with  more  interest  that  she  beheld  the  arrival 
of  Lord  and  Lady  Welden,  who  were  the  next  to 
appear — although  she  had  no  idea  that  it  was  to  Lady 
Welden's  word  in  season  she  owed  her  home  with 
Miss  Violand.  Lady  Welden  was  indeed  an  im- 
portant person,  than  whom  no  one  could  be  crisper 
over  the  telephone,  more  energetic  in  her  own  war- 
work  or  more  peremptory  in  her  demands  on  others. 
Of  all  the  tribe  of  War-Working  Peeresses,  she  was 
the  most  driving  and  the  most  efficient.  No  doubt  in 
times  of  peace,  the  Countess  may  have  been  trying  to 
the  nerves  of  a  good  many  leisurely  people,  who  were 
glad  to  acknowledge  now  that  she  was  probably  the 
hardest-working  woman  in  England.  Her  broad, 
crimson  face  and  blunt  manners  were  certainly  far 
from  attractive  and  the  importance  of  her  many 
tasks  justified  her — according  to  her  own  mind  at 
least — in  the  habit  of  never  listening  to  the  end  of 
what  anybody  said. 

That  she  cast  her  Lord  into  the  shade,  he  was  at 
moments  irritatedly  conscious.  Owing  to  his  uncom- 
promising past  Toryism,  Lord  Welden  had  not  been 
given  any  War  post.  It  was  reported  of  him  that  he 
had  been  more  often  turned  down  for  a  job  than  any 
member  of  the  Peerage  and  the  reason  given  by 
Romeyne  was  that  he  was  an  ass — "not  a  silly  ass,  but 
a  clever  ass!"  His  appearance  was  striking — a  huge, 
bulky  man,  whose  flaming,  twyform  beard  lent  him  a 
semi-heroic  aspect,  increased  by  his  long,  wine-col- 
oured curls,  giving  him  a  hirsute  look  among  that  pal- 
lid clean-shaven  generation.  The  theatricality  of  Lord 
Welden's  personality  was  hardly  lessened  by  his 
clever,  half-shut  narrow  eyes  and  his  long  waving 
hands,  nor  by  the  fact  that  he  wore  a  black  satin  stock 
instead  of  the  conventional  tie.  He  was  one  of  the 
few  people  in  the  room  to  drop  his  gs  in  the  Victorian 
manner;  and,  during  the  pauses  in  the  conversation, 


ii6     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

Sydney  could  hear  his  voice  telling  Mrs  Romeyne 
what  he  was  doin'  and  where  he  was  goin'  and  how 
he  was  feelin'  about  the  Western  Front.  The  lady's 
flattered  and  fawning  laughter  was  immediately  re- 
sponsive. 

The  remaining  couple  were  the  Hon.  Folliot  Caird 
and  his  wife — he,  a  rising  barrister,  legal  adviser  to 
the  Foreign  Offce,  had  recently  spent  some  months  in 
Washington.  Sydney  had  met  them  both  before,  at  a 
War  Fete,  where  Caird  had  talked  to  her  with  a  good 
deal  of  interest.  She  was  very  ready,  therefore,  when 
he  appeared  to  take  her  out  to  dinner,  to  continue 
their  talk,  even  though  it  took  the  form  of  a  catechism 
on  his  part  concerning  things  American. 

"How  many  men  do  you  think  the  Germans  can 
get  together  against  you  at  home  in  case  you  decide 
to  come  in?"  was  one  question,  and  this  was  easier 
to  answer  with  a  vague  guess,  than  the  next;  "I 
imagine  that  it  would  take  the  States  at  least  three  or 
four  years  to  form  an  Army,  anyhow?"  which  she 
rather  indignantly  refuted  by  a  reference  to  the  Civil 
War. 

Mr.  Caird  had  heard  of  the  Civil  War,  although  it 
remained  hazy  in  his  mind  as  an  inconsiderable  sort 
of  row,  not  to  be  compared  with  such  an  example  of 
the  real  thing  as,  let  us  say,  the  Indian  Mutiny.  He 
confessed  to  have  been  a  little  surprised  when  in 
America  to  find  that  it  had  left  still  perceptible  traces. 
He  remembered  that  the  cotton-spinning  industry  had 
been  affected  by  it ;  but  certainly,  he  had  not  expected 
to  find  that  there  were  more  monuments  to  its  soldiers 
in  the  States,  than  exist,  in  his  own  land,  to  those  sol- 
diers who  died  in  South  Africa.  What  'had  most  im- 
pressed him  about  Sydney's  country  was  first,  its 
wealth,  and  second,  the  fact  that  this  wealth  was  so 
frequently  expressed  in  terms  of  ready  money.  He  had 
met  lots  of  men  there,  "successful  men,  splendid  fel- 


ADVENTORE  117 

las" — who  seemed  content  to  have  their  one  home  in  a 
town  house,  or  even  a  flat,  who  had  no  desire  what- 
ever for  what  he  would  have  called  "an  establish- 
ment" ;  and  who  never  seemed  to  feel  that  their  wealth 
required  anything  of  that  type  from  them.  They 
lived  as  it  pleased  them  to  live,  they  didn't  bother; 
and  nobody  thought  them  eccentric. 

This  flexibility  of  the  family  budget  and  of  life 
generally,  had  enormously  appealed  to  him, — who  was 
still  in  the  stage  of  forming  a  fortune — and  yet  who 
was  always  finding  his  expenditure  determined  by 
position  rather  than  by  income.  The  scale  of  living 
in  England,  he  explained,  was  set  for  one,  by  a  sort 
of  unescapablc  tradition,  making  one  the  slave  of 
public  opinion.  These  facts  made  him  envious  of  the 
superior  opportunities,  the  freedom  of  American  life. 

"And  then,"  he  added,  "we're  not  adaptable  the 
way  you  are, — I'd  like  to  see  my  wife  get  along,  as 
your  women  do  when  their  husbands  chance  to  have  a 
bad  year — two  or  three  servants, — look  after  the  chil- 
dren yourself,  and  all  that,  y'know!" 

"I  am  looking  at  her  across  the  table,"  said  Sydney, 
"and  I  feel  quite  sure  she  could." 

Mr.  Caird  shook  his  head,  and  then,  harking  back 
once  more  to  the  subject  which  had  the  real  interest 
for  him,  asked,  "Do  you  think  that  by  any  fluke  the 
Kaiser  could  buy  up  some  of  your  prominent  men,  and 
so  keep  you  out  of  it?" 

Her  sense  of  intense  anger  and  insult  lasted  by  a 
flash,  when  she  noted  the  unconsciousness  and  absorp- 
tion of  his  face.  After  all,  how  could  he  know? 
Moreover,  such  questions,  when  they  came  from  in- 
telligent people,  or  those  predisposed  to  like  and  ad- 
mire the  States,  were  of  value  in  educating  her  to  the 
condition  of  mind  which  existed,  she  felt,  among  the 
large  class  entirely  lacking  such  sympathy. 

Mr.  Spangler,  the  Labour  member,  sat  on  her  other 


u8      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

hand.  Not  only  did  she  find  his  Yorkshire  accent  dif- 
ficult to  follow,  but  she  soon  began  to  feel  as  though 
the  act  of  conversation  with  him  resembled  that  of 
tending  a  machine.  She  fed  into  this  machinery  a  re- 
mark or  a  question,  which  disappeared  into  its 
recesses;  then  she  found  she  must  wait  a  perceptible 
interval  before  an  answer  was  produced  in  a  slow, 
reflective  grumble.  These  responses  took  so  long  to 
evolve  that  any  note  of  playfulness — always  natural 
to  one  of  her  nationality — became  grotesque.  The 
light  touch  was  evidently  unknown  to  Mr.  Spangler. 
Rather  desperately,  Sydney  asked  him  about  the  food 
situation,  which  was  then  beginning  to  be  discussed. 
Her  observation  was  received  in  silence,  and,  some 
minutes  after  she  had  begun  to  wonder  whether  the 
man  was  deaf,  he  suddenly  began  to  deliver  a  well- 
considered  review  of  the  subject,  with  statistics  as  to 
crops,  reserve  stores,  available  tonnage  for  transpor- 
tation and  estimated  loss  by  submarines — a  lecture  oc- 
cupying him  for  ten  minutes  or  so.  At  its  conclusion 
she  thanked  him  warmly  and  felt  free  to  turn  her  at- 
tention back  again  to  Mr.  Folliot  Caird. 

The  barrister  was  the  type  which  one  knows  to  be 
that  of  a  Londoner,  as  distinguished  from  the  country 
bred  and  ruddy  land  owner,  like  Easterly  or  Welden. 
Pale  and  professional-looking,  with  a  thin  face  and 
eye-glasses — his  countenance  seemed  well  fitted  for  the 
framework  of  a  wig.  His  wife  was  a  pretty  young 
woman,  whose  violet  eyes  and  smart  French  clothes 
belonged  to  the  modern  generation  and  set  her  apart 
from  Lady  Easterly  or  Mrs.  Chyne  as  completely  as 
though  she  were  of  another  nationality.  The  exotic 
quality  in  Sydney  Lea's  dress  and  appearance  inter- 
ested Mrs.  Caird,  to  whom  the  other  people  present — 
far  more  picturesque  and  individual  though  they  were 
— had  become  an  old  story.  To  her  mind  an  Ameri- 
can woman  stood,  if  not  in  this  particular  case  for 


ADVENTURE  119 

money,  yet  always  for  liveliness,  novelty  and  chic. 
After  the  women  had  ascended  to  the  drawing-room, 
she  seated  herself  by  the  secretary  to  ask  her  all  about 
New  York  and  its  wonderful  theatres,  cabarets  and 
dance-places,  which  she  longed  to  see. 

"But  I've  only  been  there  once  in  my  life  1"  cried 
Sydney  laughing,  "and  that  was  when  I  sailed  for 
Europe."  Mrs.  Caird  sympathized. 

"It's  beastly  to  be  poked  off  into  the  provinces," 
she  remarked.  "I  had  to  stay  in  Worcestershire  until 
I  married,  with  only  a  fortnight  every  spring  in  town. 
Fancy !  And  I  was  jolly  well  sick  of  it,  I  can  tell  you. 
Did  you  live  on  a  ranch?" 

That  misconception  by  which  the  Londoner  re- 
gards every  American  as  hailing  from  New  York, 
while  retiring  at  intervals  to  an  orange-plantation  in 
southern  California  or  a  ranch  in  Wyoming,  had  be- 
come so  familiar  to  Sydney  Lea  by  this  time  that  she 
had  ceased  making  any  effort  to  correct  it.  She 
answered  only,  therefore,  that  her  home  was  in  Mas- 
sachusetts, but  that  she  had  expected  to  be  at  work  in 
New  York,  had  she  not  decided  to  stay  on  in  England. 
Mrs.  Caird  thought  it  was  "awfully  sporting"  of 
Sydney  to  relinquish  her  New  York  position  and  her 
tone  held  both  sincerity  and  heartiness.  She  told 
about  her  children — a  boy  at  school  and  two  little 
girls  named,  quite  inevitably,  Moira  and  Eileen. 
Meanwhile,  on  the  sofa  before  the  fire,  Lady  Welden 
was  giving  Mrs.  Pember  Chyne  a  frank  account  of 
her  difficulties  with  the  Government,  in  her  organiza- 
tion of  the  Woman's  Food  and  Fuel  Defence  League, 
— to  which  the  other  listened  with  vivid  sympathy 
depicted  on  her  mobile  face.  Mrs  Romeyne  was 
talking  to  her  hostess. 

"Very  darin',  I  call  it — to  have  that  American  girl 
in  the  house,"  she  was  observing.  "First  thing  you 
know,  she'll  be  goin'  off  with  one  of  your  boys." 


120      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

"Not  at  all !  Not  at  all !"  said  Lady  Easterly  has- 
tily. "She  isn't  that  sort  in  any  way." 

"Those  people  make  one  think  What  they  wish," 
the  other  drawled.  "She's  much  too  good-lookin'  in 
my  opinion."  Here  Mrs.  Romeyne  lifted  her  ruby- 
studded  eye-glass  and  surveyed  Sydney  Lea  with  dis- 
approval. "Not  that  she's  really  handsome  y'know: 
too  washed-out.  But  men  like  them.  I'd  never  let  her 
be  my  husband's  secretary — although  he  never  notices 
'em.  He's  really  not  a  man  at  all — it's  like  bein' 
married  to  a  stick  of  wood." 

Mrs.  Romeyne's  habit  of  assuming  that  because 
her  husband  was  indifferent  to  her,  he  was  therefore 
insensible  to  the  charms  of  all  women,  had  become 
well  known  to  her  large  circle  of  female  enemies,  and 
Lady  Easterly  had  no  desire  to  make  trouble  for 
Adrian  by  combating  it  on  this  occasion.  She  turned 
the  subject — not  very  adroitly  but  she  did  it;  and  con- 
soled herself  by  the  reflection  that  she  need  not  ask 
Mrs.  Romeyne  to  her  house  for  another  year  at  least. 

"Really,  the  woman's  too  dreadful,"  was  her  in- 
ward comment.  "How  can  Adrian  bear  it?" 

At  that  moment  Romeyne  entered  the  room,  his 
clear,  carrying  voice  just  finishing  an  observation  con- 
cerning a  Cabinet  Minister: 

"The  man's  mind,"  Sydney  heard  him  say  as  he 
passed  her  chair,  "the  man's  mind  is  so  full  of  his 
own  importance  that  it  hasn't  room  for  an  idea !" 

Both  Caird  and  Pember  Chyne  followed  him 
eagerly  to  the  'hearthrug  to  continue  their  discussion, 
which  lasted  until  Lady  Welden  rolled  up  Her  knit- 
ting, arose  and  shouted  out  in  her  resonant  voice  that, 
as  she  had  to  be  up  at  seven  next  morning,  washin' 
dishes  in  her  canteen — she  must  be  gettin'  to  bed.  She 
bore  off  her  flamboyant  Earl — looking  like  a  Beowulf 
who  had  somehow  strayed  into  modern  life:  and 


ADVENTURE  121 

shortly  afterwards  the  Romeynes  also  took  their 
departure  and  the  party  broke  up. 

Mrs.  Caird,  as  she  rose,  gave  Sydney  a  smiling  invi- 
tation to  come  in  to  tea  on  Sunday  and  see  the  babies; 
and  the  secretary  saw  her  leave  with  the  pleasant 
sense  of  future  possibilities  in  the  way  of  friends.  She 
was  more  surprised,  though  none  the  less  delighted, 
when  a  low  voice  called  her  by  name,  and,  turning, 
she  looked  down  upon  Mrs.  Pember  Chyne,  who  was 
in  the  act  of  asking  her  to  call.  The  little  lady's  deli- 
cate face  and  ruffled  grey  hair  gave  the  girl  a  keen 
stab  of  artistic  pleasure,  in  contemplating  anything  so 
picturesque  and  charming. 

"You  will  come  to  see  us,  won't  you?  Lady 
Easterly  has  been  telling  me  all  about  you  and  I'm 
always  at  home  on  Thursdays  for  tea — even  nowa- 
days, because  my  husband  likes  it." 

"I  should  love  it!"  Sydney  cried  "although  my 
time,  you  know,  is  not  my  own." 

"I  know.  We  will  ask  Sir  Thomas.  I  want  to 
hear  all  about  your  wonderful  country.  And  you  are 
fond  of  books,  too,  are  you  not?  I  feel  sure  of  it. 
We  will  have  a  good  talk,"  nodded  Mrs  Chyne  and 
moved  away. 

Sydney  betook  herself  homeward  through  the 
ominously  empty  streets,  bearing  with  her  the  recol- 
lection of  a  kindly  glance  and  a  word — "And  how  are 
you,  Miss  Lea?"  from  Romeyne,  as  he  passed  out. 

The  Folliot  Cairds  was  the  first  young  household 
that  Sydney  saw  in  England;  and  it  gained  much  in 
her  eyes  from  that  fact.  Edith  Caird  was  many 
years  younger  than  her  husband  and  was  a  good  deal 
absorbed  in  her  nursery  and  in  her  girl-friends — so 
the  War  shadow  did  not  brood  over  her  home  as  over 
«o  many  others  that  Sydney  had  seen.  It  was,  indeed, 
a  menage  in  the  full  sunshine  of  youth,  health  and  suc- 
cess, very  pleasant  to  behold.  They  lived  in  Hans 


122      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

Place — gayest  and  most  smartly  modern  of  squares, 
in  a  house  that  was  quasi-American  both  in  size  and 
appearance  and  that  within  doors  held  a  piquant  vivac- 
ity of  colour  and  decoration.  The  pretty  parlour- 
maid, who  admitted  Miss  Lea,  wore  a  crimson  frock, 
with  an  apron  and  Alsatian  cap  of  pleated  black  net; 
and  the  room  into  which  she  ushered  the  guest  was  all 
Hone  in  black  and  white  stripes  against  which  cush- 
ions and  draperies  of  strong  orange,  blue  and  scar- 
let, made  a  vivid  effect.  It  was  very  gay  and  striking, 
and  Sydney  complimented  her  hostess,  who  made  a 
deprecating  gesture. 

"I'm  glad  you  like  it,  Roger  doesn't;"  she  candidly 
admitted,  "he  says  it's  like  living  on  the  stage  in  a 
decor  du  theatre  Antolne.  So  he  won't  sit  in  it,  and 
after  dinner  I  always  have  to  have  my  cigarette  with 
him  in  his  dreadful,  messy  little  den.  "Ah!  here 
come  the  children." 

The  door  'had  opened  to  admit  two  little  girls  of 
five  and  three  under  the  guidance  of  a  severe  person- 
age, who  left  them  to  their  mother  with  the  manner 
of  one  making  a  great  concession.  Pretty  creatures 
both,  with  thick  mops  of  hair,  large  starry  eyes  and 
bare  legs,  the  children  conducted  themselves  with 
that  air  of  fulfilling  an  expected  routine,  which  is  so 
amazing  to  the  stranger  in  English  nurseries.  They 
curtsied  to  the  visitor;  they  each  received  a  cake, 
which  they  sat  on  two  chairs  to  nibble,  and  occasion- 
ally replied  in  monosyllables  to  lher  friendly  attempts 
at  conversation.  In  her  heart,  Sydney  thought,  that 
handsome  as  they  were,  they  had  rather  an  air  of  w"!l 
trained  animals  than  of  human  beings.  But  their 
brother  surprised  her  even  more.  The  girls  had  a 
look  of  stolidity  and  physical  perfection,  in  singular 
contrast  to  the  boy,  who  was  as  thin  and  pale  as  if  he 
had  been  born  across  the  Atlantic.  Mrs.  Caird  ob- 
served that  he  was  'home  from  his  preparatory  school 


ADVENTURE  123 

on  account  of  not  being  quite  well — and  he  struck 
the  visitor  as  being  physically  both  ill-nourished  and 
over-repressed.  At  nine,  Jack  Caird  had  all  the  poise 
and  subdued  effect  of  a  blase  little  man  of  the  world, 
and  caused  Sydney  to  reflect  that  in  this  country,  child- 
hood ended  early  for  the  male.  He  gave  evidences 
of  careful  training  as  to  manners  and  personal  ap- 
pearance ;  while  at  the  same  time,  the  latter  bore  wit- 
ness to  an  unheard-of  neglect.  His  teeth  needed  clean- 
ing af\d  straightening,  and  he  had  a  slight,  but  percep- 
tible defect  of  vision;  while  his  repression  and  reti- 
cence went  beyond  mere  shyness  and  seemed  to  hint 
at  sinister  influence.  Sydney,  with  memories  of  a  boy- 
cousin  of  the  same  age,  with  his  radiant  friendliness, 
bubbling  spirits  and  restless  vitality — felt  at  a  loss 
how  to  deal  with  this  critical  and  tranquil  little  gentle- 
man. She  thought  to  herself  that  she  had  never  seen 
a  young  creature  so  lacking  in  joyousness  and  so  afraid 
to  express  either  interest  or  pleasure. 

By  this  time  two  or  three  young  women  in  uniform 
had  gathered  about  the  tea-table  and  talk  grew  ani- 
mated. But  Sydney  did  not  give  up  her  efforts  to 
draw  the  boy  out,  so  long  as  she  thought  there  was  any 
hope.  If  he  had  the  usual  childish  liking  of  novelty, 
he  had  long  been  schooled  not  to  show  it,  so  she  found 
herself  groping  through  an  empty  little  mind,  in  which 
every  idea  had  long  since  been  stereotyped.  It  was 
a  strange  experience  to  find  an  English  boy  reproduc- 
ing in  his  person  some  of  the  worst  faults  to  be  found 
in  American  education  fifty  years  ago,  by  English 
critics — namely  the  loss  of  childhood — but  it  was 
one  often  to  be  repeated.  Her  reflection — as  the 
door  shut  on  the  three  children  was,  that  if  the  new 
generation  of  Englishmen  was  to  exhibit  the  strongly- 
marked  individuality  of  the  past,  it  must  develop  late, 
and  this  was  followed  by  another  to  the  effect  that 
the  system  of  forbidding  any  expression  of  feelings, 


i24      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

soon  resulted  in  the  child's  having  no  feelings  to  ex- 
press. 

"Now,  Miss  Lea!"  her  hostess  cried  gaily,  "you 
can  pay  some  attention  to  us." 

The  gaitered  young  Rosalinds  around  the  tea-table 
ate  with  frank  appetite,  smoked  with  gusto  and  talked 
with  candour.  They  had  broad  faces  and  long  legs, 
large  eyes  and  splendidly  abundant  hair.  They  bore 
to  Sydney  a  breath  of  high  courage  and  young  achieve- 
ment; and  she  was  soon  chatting  and  laughing — tell- 
ing, perhaps,  an  American  story  or  two — with  an 
exhilaration  that  she  had  lost  during  War-time  but 
which  brought  vivdly  back  to  her,  the  green  of  her 
college  campus,  and  its  overhanging  elms,  her  long 
talks  with  Elizabeth — in  the  days  when  life  was  an  in- 
dividual matter  and  one's  ears  were  not  filled  day 
and  night  with  the  cry  of  -a  world  in  pain. 

In  none  of  these  young  girls  did  she  find  the  mental 
alertness  to  which  she  Was  accustomed.  One  and  all 
of  them  seemed  to  have  been  imperfectly  educated, 
to  be  both  impervious  and  indifferent  to  ideas.  Their 
vocabularies  were  astonishingly  narrow;  their  views 
of  life  were,  (apart  from  fheir  work)  quite  frankly 
greedy  and  even  sensual;  in  their  attitude  toward  men 
coquetry  and  sexual  appeal  had  ceased  to  be  uncon- 
scious or  spontaneous,  and  had  become  quite  direct, 
studied  even,  candid  to  a  point  which  took  the  Ameri- 
can's breath  away.  Man  was  still,  in  the  England  of 
1915,  the  only  possible  purveyor  to  woman  of  all  that 
made  life  worth  living;  the  great  prize;  the  giver  of 
that  physical  passion  which  was  the  underlying  pre- 
occupation of  her  existence  and  of  the  luxury  by 
which  it  was  expressed  and  crowned.  Woman  was 
here  the  hunter,  who  must  match  her  cunning  against 
the  superior  strength  and  position  of  her  prey.  This, 
at  least  was  the  assumption.  Sydney  Lea,  fresh  from 
a  world  less  coarse  and  senual,  although  perchance, 


ADVENTURE  125 

more  hypocritical  and  anemic,  had  never  before  come 
into  contact  with  this  War  between  the  Sexes;  in  her 
dim,  young  imagination  marriage  had  been  expressed 
in  terms  of  a  sublimated  comradeship;  it  was  a  species 
of  emotional  co-operation.  The  Woman  Question 
had  never  interested  her  in  the  least,  but  she  began  to 
realize  that  the  claims  of  the  English  feminists  were 
based  on  reality.  War  had  made  a  sudden  demand 
upon  the  powers  of  these  vigorous  female  creatures, 
which  was  changing,  though  it  had  not  yet  wholly 
changed,  their  attitude  toward  these  things.  If  not 
they,  at  least  their  daughters,  would  have  opened  to 
them  in  future  so  many  doors  into  the  wide  world, 
that  man  would  cease  to  be  the  only  possible  purveyor 
of  all  that  made  life  worth  while,  and  woman  might 
once  again  resume  her  ancient  place  of  hunted  rather 
than  of  huntress. 

Surely,  Sydney  thought,  she  deserved  it  after  such 
self-devotion;  and  she  glanced  across  the  room  at 
one  rosy  and  long-limbed  Amazon,  whose  eight  hours 
of  truck  driving  per  day,  were  taken  for  granted  as 
gayly  and  simply  as  was  her  candidly-expressed  de- 
termination to  get  a  husband  out  of  it,  somewhere  en 
route,  "Because,  y'see,  in  a  year  or  two  there  won't 
be  enough  men  to  go  'round,  and  then,  not  havin'  a 
bob,  I  shall  never  have  an  earthly!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  variety  in  London  houses  was  a  delight  to 
Sydney  Lea,  who  found  nothing  so  picturesque  as  the 
contrast  between  the  lively  modernity  of  the  Caird's 
and  the  vague,  dingily-impressive  spaces  of  the  region 
around  Russell  Square.  Moreover,  the  moment  she 
entered  the  Pember  Chyne's,  her  heart  leaped  with 
joyful  recognition  of  an  interior  already  loved.  A 
house  lined  and  walled  with  books,  exhaling  the  rich- 
est sense  of  the  life  of  and  for  books,  was  something 
she  too,  remembered. 

Her  hostess,  bending  over  the  fire,  looked  like  a 
brownie  or  a  fairy  godmother.  She  wore  her  grey 
hair  puffed  and  tied  with  ribbon  like  an  eighteenth 
century  portrait,  while  her  slight  shoulders  were  en- 
veloped in  a  wrap  lined  with  fur.  Sydney's  pleasure  in 
their  meeting  was  so  visible  that  it  was  an  inspiration 
to  Rhoda  Pember  Chyne,  who  had  found  such  sensi- 
tive response  rare  among  the  youth  of  her  day.  She 
had  often  commented  that  Americans  tended  to  be 
old-fashioned  in  regard  to  their  love  of  the  literary 
background,  and  this  girl's  enjoyment  of  it,  caused 
the  elder  woman  to  sparkle  with  anecdote;  to  pour 
the  rich  wine  of  her  experience — "with  beaded  bub- 
bles winking  at  the  brim" — more  gaily  and  freely  as 
she  afterwards  declared,  than  she  had  done  for 
months. 

She  told  Sydney  war-stories,  political  stones;  she 
repeated  bans  mots  of  the  past.  It  gave  her  particular 
joy  to  recall  that  when  in  the  first  months  of  the  War, 
the  Admiralty  spread  oil  upon  the  waters  of  Margate 
Bay,  in  order  to  trouble  enemy  submarines,  the  town 

126 


ADVENTURE  127 

of  Margate  put  in  a  claim  against  the  Admiralty  for 
spoiling  the  sea-bathing!  She  chuckled  at  the  reply 
made  to  a  Royal  host,  who  was  assuring  his  guests 
that  in  event  of  an  air-raid,  the  cellars  had  been  made 
ready,  by  a  bon  vivant  Minister,  who  did  not  like 
the  new  regime  of  barley-water;  why  not  go  there 
now,  Sir?"  Had  Sydney  ever  heard  what  Jowett 
said,  when  someone,  forgetting  he  had  been  recently 
made  a  widower,  met  him  on  Piccadilly  and  asked 
"When's  your  wife  coming  up?"  "  'She  comes  up  at 
Easter!'  "  was  the  immortal  answer. 

Then  she  talked  about  a  walk  with  Tennyson  under 
the  great  oaks;  of  an  evening,  when,  curled  up  on  the 
sofa,  she  heard  Swinburne  recite  Laus  Veneris,  his 
hair  flaming  in  the  firelight;  of  an  amusing  encounter 
between  Huxley  and  Renan,  where  the  humourous  and 
impatient  energy  of  the  one  was  contrasted  with  the 
suave  and  pontifical  gravity  of  the  other;  and  of  her 
own  battle  royal  with  Oscar  Wilde — when  Irish  wit 
met  Irish  wit  and  the  woman  came  out  the  victor. 

It  was  to  Sydney  like  the  unrolling  of  a  tapestry,  on 
which  were  woven  many  shining  figures,  although, 
now  and  again,  Mrs  Chyne  would  repeat,  with  a  sigh, 
in  her  soft  voice:  "Oh  how  long  ago  that  seems — 
how  quite  done  with — how  ended !" 

Then  some  memory  would  bring  back  her  bubbling 
laughter  and  she  was  off  once  more  with  description 
of  the  view  of  the  river  from  the  windows  of  the 
Pennell's  flat  in  Buckingham  Street,  or  of  Whistler 
and  Henry  James,  both  of  whom  she  had  disliked;  or 
of  Walter  Pater,  whom  she  dearly  loved  and  went 
to  visit  every  year;  or  of  walking  home  under  arc 
umbrella,  with  a  serious,  blue-eyed  army  officer,  who 
talked  about  the  Bible  and  whose  name  was  Gordon. 
All  these  vignettes — which  might  otherwise  have  been 
mere  futile  reminiscence  were  backed  solidly  by  a 
mind  holding  well-considered  impressions  and  critical 


128      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

values,  which  it  had  registered  concerning  these  inter- 
esting figures.  Nor  were  these  all  necessarily  flat- 
tering. Mrs.  Chyne  would  not  have  been  herself 
without  a  caustic  candour  which  pierced  many  illu- 
sions and  set  many  a  hero  tottering  on  his  pedestal. 
This  was  particularly  true  of  War  celebrities,  whose 
evanescent  glory  gave  one  of  her  type  only  a  sense  of 
pain,  by  contrast  with  the  weightier  minds  of  the  past. 

"Although,  I  do  believe — "  she  nodded  her  small 
head,  "that  we  may  expect  a  great  deal  from  Mr. 
Romeyne — who  was  dining  at  the  Easterly's  that 
night — you  remember?  I  am  usually  dreadfully  dis- 
appointed in  these  new  men — especially  Liberal  poli- 
ticians— but  I  am  agreeably  surprised  in  him  and  so 
I  told  Walter.  He  is  distinctly  in  the  grand  style — 
his  mind  has  the  quickness  and  the  serenity.  We  may 
look  to  him,  I  feel  sure." 

Sydney  was  very  much  interested  and  inclined  to 
agree ;  but  just  then  the  master  of  the  house  came  in 
for  a  cup  of  tea  and  the  subject  was  dropped.  Mr. 
Chyne  appeared  war-worn  and  weary — more  so,  to 
the  secretary's  eye,  than  were  those  professional  poli- 
ticians whom  she  saw  continually  and  who  carried 
their  cares  more  lightly.  His  wife's  gaze  rested  on 
him  with  a  shade  of  anxiety  and  she  seemed  to  read 
between  the  lines  of  his  low-toned  observations — 
most  of  which  the  visitor's  ear  could  not  even  catch. 
She  did  gather  that  he  looked  forward  to  the  ap- 
proaching winter  with  little  confidence. 

His  arrival  was  followed  by  that  of  two  or  three 
others:  a  young  Japanese  attache,  whose  politeness 
was  as  exquisite  as  his  mental  dexterity — both  of 
them  seeming  equally  exotic:  a  Serbian  priest,  with 
bare  feet  and  high  fur  cap,  whose  curled  black  beard 
gave  him  the  look  of  a  sculptured  Babylonian  mon- 
arch come  to  life; — and  shortly  after,  Sydney  took 
her  leave.  It  was  not  however  these  exotic  personal- 


ADVENTURE  129 

ities  that  peopled  the  smoky  streets  for  her  on  her 
homeward  way,  but  the  talk  with  her  hostess,  and 
this  she  resolved  should  be  often  repeated. 

Thus  Thursday  afternoon  came  to  have  for  her  a 
new  and  pleasurable  significance.  Very  seldom  did 
she  encounter  at  Rhoda's  hearth  anyone  of  her  own 
age,  but  England  'had  taught  Sydney  a  new  interest 
in  the  intercourse  with  her  elders — a  joy  far  too  little 
understood  in  her  own  country,  where  the  ages  are 
kept  rigidly  separated  into  different  social  strata. 
Women  she  met  at  the  Chyne's  were  apt  to  be  plainly 
dressed;  their  low-voiced  chat  was  full  of  spice  and 
flavored  with  an  exotic  Victorianism.  The  men  were 
always  men  of  parts.  Journalists  or  politicians  or 
diplomats  or  scholars  came  most  often,  even  those 
who  went  nowhere  else.  Once  Sydney  was  asked  to 
luncheon  and  found  herself  the  only  woman  beside 
her  hostess,  and  her  place  on  the  right  hand  of  her 
host.  That  day,  Walter  Pember  Chyne  was  inclined 
to  be  more  cheerful  and  talkative  than  usual.  Upon 
this  subdued  temperament  the  War  'had  laid  an  abso- 
lutely crushing  hand;  widening  the  sphere  of  his  anx- 
ieties from  the  personal  to  the  general;  disrupting 
his  whole  existence  and  shattering  the  quiet  of  his 
study.  His  wife  had  felt  able  to  continue  her  liter- 
ary work,  but  not  he.  However,  today  he  shook 
on  his  depression;  he  revealed  to  his  young  guest  his 
store  of  learning,  topped  with  a  delicate  superstruc- 
ture of  fine  and  discriminating  taste,  and  expressed 
with  a  flavor  which  Sydney  did  not  know  enough  to 
recognize  as  savoring  of  the  donnish. 

Of  the  two  other  men  present,  one,  named  Perciyal 
Burghley,  a  member  of  a  great  family,  was  working 
with  quiet  self-devotion  in  a  branch  of  the  Intelligence 
Department.  He  was  an  ascetic-looking  person,  with 
a  scared  eye  so  diffident  as  to  make  it  hard  for  a 
chance  acquaintance  to  profit  by  his  real  talent  and 


i3o      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

cultivated  sensitiveness.  He  talked  little;  but  he 
listened  with  palpable  delight  to  his  hostess's  stories. 

The  name  of  the  other  man,  who  chanced  to  sit 
beside  her,  Sydney  did  not  at  first  catch.  Even  in 
this  land  of  marked  individualities  he  was  probably, 
she  decided,  an  oddity.  He  looked  like  a  gypsy,  short, 
dark  and  quick  with  pointed,  obstinate  features  and 
the  softest,  mildest,  gentlest  little  voice  that  ever  was 
heard  to  issue  from  a  by-no-means  gentle  mouth. 
Over  his  fatigued,  lack-lustre  eyes  he  wore  powerful 
lenses,  his  back  was  bent;  his  hands  stained  with 
chemicals.  In  strange  contrast,  he  had  the  muscles, 
the  reach,  the  torso  of  an  athlete  or  a  wrestler,  and 
his  round  head  was  covered  with  thick,  black  hair 
standing  upright,  like  the  fur  on  a  creature  of  the 
wild.  Indeed,  his  whole  personality  had  about  it 
something  inhuman,  like  a  wild  thing  that  might  re- 
veal itself  perhaps  charmingly  enough  and  then  be 
startled  back  into  cover.  She  soon  gathered  that  his 
work  was  that  of  an  investigator  among  high  explo- 
sives; that  he  lived  daily,  hourly  even,  in  danger  of 
swift  and  terrible  death — death  more  sure,  more  ter- 
rible than  that  which  stalked  the  trenches;  death 
which  would  crush  him  out  of  life  as  he  might  put 
his  ^oot  on  an  ant  in  the  path. 

The  talk  fell — as  it  was  so  apt  to  do  during  these 
autumn  months, — on  the  jealousies  and  incompeten- 
cies  of  men  in  high  places  and  it  was  evident  from 
the  host's  manner  that  this  particular  guest  had  been 
a  victim.  Pember  Chyne  directed  the  comments  to 
him  as  to  one  who  had  had  a  significant  experience. 

"It's  a  bit  hard  on  a  chap,  isn't  it?"  he  answered 
Sydney's  glance  of  enquiry.  "Especially,  when  he 
knows  ways  and  means.  Yes :  I  did  have  a  row  with 
the  W.  O. — ;  but  I  was  only  twenty-five — its  nearly 
ten  years  ago  now.  They  kicked  me  out  of  my  post 
at  Woolwich,  because  I  had  my  own  opinions  and 


ADVENTURE  131 

stuck  to  'em.  Well — and  you  see — now  I  After  all, 
I  have  worked  in  the  great  German  chemical  labora- 
tories and  I  know  some  of  their  little  ways." 

"Yes:  I  want  you  to  tell  Burghley  about  that," 
Pemberton  Chyne  observed;  but  the  other  blinked, 
smiled  and  went  on  addressing  his  remarks,  in  a  very 
low  voice,  to  the  American  lady,  rather  than  to  Mr. 
Burghley. 

"One  would  like  to  use  their  own  science  against 
them.  But  those  duffers  won't  hear  me — they  hate 
me." 

"But  why  should  they  hate  you?" 

He  raised  his  eye-brows  and  shook  his  head. 

"Because  a  bureaucracy  always  hates  you  if  you 
show  it  up.  There  is  only  one  thing  they  value — 
their  own  importance.  They  want  to  think  I'm  done 
with." 

"Evidently,  you're  not,  however." 

"No:  but  one  loses  time — valuable  time.  My 
invention — this  new  flashless  powder,  is  needed  now 
—this  very  day."  He  gave  a  shrug.  "You  see,  I 
showed  them  too  plain  that  I  thought  them  a  set 
of  inefficient  fly-blown,  pride-begotten  formalists. 
They'll  never  forgive  me." 

"Not  when  they  need  your  ability?" 

"Oh  no.  Mustn't  be  clever  in  this  country,  you 
know." 

"Must  never  show  it,  you  mean,"  Sydney  rejoined, 
interested,  and  thinking  of  Romeyne. 

"Exactly!  But  its  odd  you  should  know  it.  .  .  . 
Do  the  red  tape  artists  worry  you  in  your  job,  now?" 

She  confessed  to  a  feeling  of  irritation  at  the  self- 
importance  of  authority  generally,  but  supposed  it 
was  due  to  her  American  training.  The  somewhat 
naive  way  in  which  Sydney  made  this  acknowledg- 
ment caused  a  smile  to  go  around  the  table. 

"And  yet  from  all  I  hear,"  Percival  Burghley  ob- 


132      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

served,  "I  should  say  that  we  are  much  greater  stick- 
lers for  our  individual  liberties  here  than  in  Miss 
Lea's  country,  where  co-operation  is  the  order  of 
the  day.  Authority  doesn't  seem  to  worry  them  in 
the  States !" 

"They  are  lots  of  reasons  for  that.  .  .  .  You  see," 
Sydney  answered  eagerly,  "it  is  more  temporary  and 
it's  the  result  of  the  effort  of  a  special  person  or  a 
special  group.  We  feel  it  to  be  due  to  the  expert. 
.  .  .  Here  it's  vested  in  certain  classes  and  certain 
families,  whether  the  individual  representing  them  at 
the  moment  be  worthy  to  handle  it  or  not." 

Percival  Burghley  nodded.  He  knew  this  to  be 
true  of  his  own  experience  as  well  as  that  of  the  great 
and  influential  family  of  which  he  was  a  member. 
Still,  it  was  interesting  to  have  it  so  aptly  analysed. 

"And  you  mean  to  say  that  after  all  these  years 
you  can't  get  a  hearing  before  the  War  Department?" 
he  asked  the  inventor,  with  a  shade  of  incredulity 
in  his  well-bred  voice. 

"Apparently  not." 

"Surely,"  Sydney  cried,  "they're  not  all  like  that! 
Why,  I  have  many  times  heard  Sir  Thomas  talk  about 
these  different  men — officials  on  the  staff.  He  gave 
me  the  impression  of  very  brilliant,  broad-minded 
men!" 

The  little  inventor  laughed.  "I  should  not  like 
to  destroy  that  impression.  ...  A  professional  sol- 
dier is  a  routine-bred  creature  who  is  almost  never 
broadminded.  .  .  .  And  our  Staff  is  provincial, 
narrow-minded,  jealous  of  the  French — who  really 
know  what  they  are  doing.  I  could  give  you  instances, 
plenty  of  them;  but  what's  the  use?  We  prefer 
muddlers — in  this  country." 

"But  not  all  of  them!"  Sydney  persisted. 

"All  but  one  or  two.    There  is  one  man  I  should 


ADVENTURE  133 

like  to  talk  to  and  I  must  try.  They  say  he's  intelli- 
gent and  that  he  will  really  listen  to  one." 

"Which  man  is  that?"  she  asked. 

He  smiled  at  her  insistence. 

"Sir  Hector  Menzies." 

"Oh  but  I  know  him  very  well !"  Sydney  remarked 
serenely.  "I  was  thinking  of  him  as  you  spoke.  He 
is  an  intimate  friend  of  my  Chief  and  comes  to  the 
house  very  often." 

The  inventor's  eye  lost  that  politely  perfunctory 
interest  and  studied  her  face  more  seriously. 

"I've  forgotten  your  Chief's  name — if  I  ever  knew 
it?" 

"He's  Sir  Thomas  Easterly." 

"The  M.  P.  ?  Oh,  of  course — I've  met  him.  A 
charming  man — very  sound.  And  you  say  General 
Menzies  is  a  friend  of  his?" 

"They  have  been  friends  all  their  lives.  ." 

"Ah,  indeed    .    .    .    !" 

"If  you  cared — if  you  thought  it  worth  while," 
Sydney  said  with  friendly  frankness,  "I  could  speak 
to  either  one  of  them  .  .  .  ?" 

"You  are  too  good."  His  manner  was  hesitant  and 
stiff.  Quite  evidently  he  was  at  a  loss  just  how  to 
take  her  suggestion.  Mrs.  Chyne  at  that  instant  rose 
from  the  table  and  Sydney  followed.  As  the  door 
closed  after  them,  it  cut  short  her  host's  voice  say- 
ing: "Listen,  old  chap,  I  want  you  to  tell  Burghley 
just  what  .  .  ." 

The  two  women  went  into  the  study.  "Who  is  Mr. 
Liston?"  Sydney  asked,  when  they  were  settled  on 
either  side  of  the  fire  and  Rhoda  was  opening  her 
knitting  bag. 

"The  most  wonderful  little  man,  my  dear !  Walter 
thinks  everything  of  his  talent.  He's  a  chemist  .  .  . 
one  of  the  few  we  have  who  know  the  Germans  and 
their  ways.  .  .  .  Unfortunately,  as  you  heard  him 


134     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

tell,  he  got  into  trouble  with  the  Ordnance  people, 
years  ago  when  he  was  quite  a  lad.  And  it  seems 
he  can't  get  anyone  to  listen  to  him  now." 

"So  he  said.    It  seems  to  have  gone  very  deep." 

"It  did.  In  fact,  I  think  his  career  was  all  but 
ruined.  He  wasn't  respectful  nor  in  the  least  disci- 
plined. .  .  .  Oh,  I  know  he  probably  was  very  un- 
wise .  .  but  still !  Walter  thinks  that  now  their 
differences  should  be  forgotten,  in  view  of  his  new  dis- 
coveries. He  has  several  inventions  apparently  and 
one  in  particular,  which  they  ought  to  try." 

"He  wants  to  meet  Sir  Hector  Menzies.  Perhaps 
I  might  be  able  to  manage  it." 

"It  would  be  splendid  if  you  would!"  Mrs.  Pem- 
ber  Chyne  relinquished  her  knitting  for  a  moment  in 
her  earnestness.  "All  the  men  whose  opinion  is  worth 
anything  believe  in  Ernest  Listen.  Even  the  Ger- 
mans seemed  to  give  hearing  always  to  their  men  of 
genius.  Only  we  refuse — with  us  jealousies  and  rival- 
ries seem  to  prevail.  ...  I  wish  you  could  manage 
it,  my  dear!" 

"Then  I  shall  try  at  least,"  said  the  secretary,  "but 
what  a  queer  fellow  he  is!" 

"Just  like  a  little  furry,  wild  animal,"  Rhoda 
agreed.  "I  always  feel  that  he  would  turn  and  bite  if 
he  were  vexed.  .  .  .  Still  he  has  ideas — and  just  now 
when  we  are  all  so  discouraged,  that  means  a  great 
deal." 

But  the  situation  puzzled  her  friend.  "It  ought 
to  mean  everything.  What  earthly  difference  does  it 
make  after  all  if 'he  quarrelled  with  somebody  or  other 
ten  years  ago?  The  personnel  of  the  Department 
must  have  changed1?" 

"Completely,  of  course.  All  that  was  in  Lord  Hal- 
dane's  day — And  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  believe  he 
stood  by  poor  Ernest  and  did  all  he  could  for  him. 


ADVENTURE  135 

Because  you  see,  my  dear,  the  point  is  that  Ernest 
was  right." 

"That  is  just  what  I  can't  understand.     .     . 
Then  how  can  it  affect  him  now?" 

Rhoda  looked  at  her.  "But  the  Department  is 
.  .  .  well,  the  Department !  The  man  may  change 
.  .  .  but  the  policy  must  be  supported." 

"You  mean  the  Department  has  got  to  go  on  stand- 
ing for  its  own  mistakes?  I  suppose  so.  .  .  ." 

"Well,  then,"  cried  Sydney,  vigorously,  "I  must 
say  I  do  sympathize  with  Florence  Nightingale  1" 

Her  friend  laughed  merrily.  "You'd  have  hated 
her  ...  I  did  .  .  .  To  meet,  I  mean.  She  was 
an  odious  woman.  .  .  .  But  there,  I  understand 
you.  .  .  .  And  you  will  not  forget,  poor  Ernest, 
will  you?" 

"You  may  be  sure  I  shall  not,  if  I  ever  have  a 
chance" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WHEN  Thomas  Easterly  was  a  clever  young  under- 
graduate at  Cambridge,  Hector  Menzies  was  a  clever 
and  younger  cadet  at  Sandhurst.  Separated  though 
they  were  in  years,  the  two  became  close  friends,  and 
maintained  that  friendship  when  they  went  their  sev- 
eral ways  in  the  service  of  the  Empire.  Age  and  ex- 
perience brought  a  difference  of  outlook  as  it  had  de- 
veloped a  difference  in  temperament,  but  the  congeni- 
ality and  affection  remained,  and  whenever  the  soldier 
was  in  England,  he  saw  much  of  the  Easterly  house- 
hold. The  boys  were  devoted  to  him  and  owed  it 
to  his  aid  that  they  so  rapidly  reached  that  active 
service  which  had  ended  the  life  of  one  of  them  and 
the  career  of  another. 

Hector  Menzies  had  always  been  a  lucky  man. 
Promotion  had  come  to  him  rapidly;  some  people 
said  more  rapidly  than  he  deserved.  In  the  beginning 
he  had  been  strapped  for  money,  but  a  prudent  mar- 
riage had  settled  all  that  on  the  right  side,  and  done 
him  the  further  benefit  in  the  eyes  of  society  by  pro- 
viding him  with  a  wife  whom  nobody  ever  saw,  and 
whom  no  one  ever  thought  it  necessary  to  invite  along 
with  her  husband.  Just  before  1914  he  had  become, 
in  due  course,  Sir  Hector,  and  was  beginning  to  think 
about  the  retired  list  and  a  life  of  rather  more  domes- 
ticity than  heretofore;  sweetened,  no  doubt,  by  occa- 
sional visits  to  town,  where  he  could  make  his  head- 
quarters at  the  United  Service  Club  and  lighten  the 
burden  of  formal,  "great"  parties  by  an  elderly,  not 
too  assiduous  devotion  to  the  prominent  hetairai  of 

136 


ADVENTURE  137 

the  moment.  But  1914  postponed  these  visions  and 
substituted  a  more  active  role  in  the  greatest  drama 
on  any  stage,  than  Menzies  had  ever  anticipated. 
He  was  a  man  of  exceptional  abilities,  erratic  and  un- 
even at  times  in  the  execution  of  his  ideas,  but  always 
mentally  quick  and  dominating.  1915  found  him  on 
the  General  Staff,  and  in  that  position  regarded  by  a 
large  number  of  people  as  representing  the  British 
Army  at  its  highest  pitch  of  perfection. 

Nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  that  such  a 
personality,  attached  to  such  a  personage,  should  be 
of  interest  to  Sir  Thomas's  secretary.  Sir  Hector 
was  a  superbly  handsome  man,  a  high  type  of  physical 
beauty  even  in  middle-age;  astonishingly  fit  still, 
though  a  trifle  empurpled  after  dinner;  always  keen; 
mentally,  and  corporeally  energetic,  full  of  ideas  and 
of  affability.  His  knowledge  of  the  other  sex,  formed 
after  a  somewhat  wide  experience,  lent  his  manner 
toward  any  subordinate  females  he  might  encounter 
in  the  course  of  his  day,  a  sort  of  caressing  condescen- 
sion which  was  never  undignified,  but  very  glorious. 
He  set  much  store  by  the  accessories  of  his  high  place, 
which  his  private  means  enabled  him  to  heighten  in 
a  befitting  manner.  His  car  was  the  powerfullest, 
the  shiniest,  the  raciest  in  London;  his  chauffeur-or 
derlies  were  the  most  erect  and  wooden-faced  in  the 
Army;  and  his  own  tall  figure  carried  its  gold  and 
scarlet  trimmings  more  impressively  than  any  other 
on  the  Staff. 

A  social  system  of  unknown  complexity  being,  bit 
by  bit,  revealed  to  Sydney  Lea,  her  whole  attitude 
toward  life  was  altered  and  colored.  Not  only  had 
she  come  better  to  understand  her  own  place  therein 
and  that  of  her  work  for  Sir  Thomas,  as  she  came 
better  to  understand  this  world  which  made  its  back- 
ground, but  the  people  moving  around  her  gained 
in  picturesqueness.  Sir  Thomas's  friends  became  the 


i38      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

dramatis  personae  for  whose  entrances  and  exits 
she  looked,  as  she  sat  in  the  theatre  of  her  office, 
and  whose  parts  were  played  out  in  a  vast  daily 
drama.  General  Menzies  was  inevitably  an  import- 
ant member  of  the  cast,  more  important,  Sydney 
sometimes  reflected,  than  his  past  achievements  would 
seem  to  warrant.  She  had  often  heard  him  talk 
about  his  views  and  plans  to  'his  friend — he  talked  a 
great  deal.  He  had  a  resonant  high-pitched,  jolly 
voice  and  never  hesitated.  He  was  one  of  those  nat- 
urally indiscreet  men  that  women  love;  and  he  man- 
aged to  convey  the  impression  that  his  talk  was  an 
overflow  from  a  limitless  reservoir  of  vigorous  and 
active  intellection,  and  from  a  store,  deep  and  full,  of 
vital  ideas.  There  were  times  when  the  quiet  observer 
wondered  if  the  reservoir  was  really  there,  or  if  the 
stream  was  not  perhaps,  shallower  than  was  supposed. 
However,  Sir  Hector  was  on  the  Staff :  that  was  the 
main  point,  the  one  which  recurred  to  her  mind  the 
day  after  her  luncheon  at  the  Pember  Chyne's,  and 
her  talk  with  that  odd  creature,  the  inventor,  Ernest 
Listen. 

Somehow  or  other  his  estimate  of  Menzies,  as  a 
man  broadminded,  neither  petty  nor  fearful  of 
new  ideas,  had  been  a  surprise  to  Sydney.  From  such 
a  source,  from  a  man  who  had  come  into  contest  with 
officialdom  and  had  been  broken  by  it,  that  attitude 
seemed  to  her  decidedly  unexpected.  She  kept  won- 
dering if  his  estimate  was  right. 

When  she  returned  to  Charles  Street  from  White- 
hall that  afternoon,  whither  she  had  carried  some 
document  for  Sir  Thomas,  it  was  to  find,  as  often  be- 
fore, the  General's  large  and  shining  car  standing  at 
the  front  door.  Voices,  intermingled  with  laughter, 
sounded  first  from  the  dining-room  and  then  from  the 
study.  Presently  the  three  men  came  into  the  outer 
room — the  third  being  Adrian  Romeyne,  who  was 


ADVENTURE  139 

looking  as  nearly  bored  as  he  ever  permitted  himself 
to  look.  Sir  Hector  topped  his  two  tall  companions 
by  a  half-a-head.  He  seemed  actually  a  radiant 
blaze  of  scarlet  and  gold  braid,  of  decorations  and 
good-nature.  His  breathing  was  a  trifle  perceptible; 
but  then  Sir  Thomas's  brandy  was  famous.  Sydney 
thought  his  uniform  was  beginning  to  look  a  little 
stretched  at  the  seams.  Before  her  inner  visions, 
arose  a  clear  picture  of  the  man  with  the  strange, 
determined  face  and  mild,  little  voice,  who  had 
expressed  such  hope  and  faith  in  this  dazzling  being. 

Sir  Hector  did  not  forget,  in  his  meteoric  passage 
through  the  room,  to  throw  the  young  lady  a  breezy, 
kindly  greeting.  She  smiled  back,  in  honest  pleasure 
at  the  fine  head,  the  regular,  strong  features,  the  man's 
very  real  beauty.  But  for  the  others,  Sir  Hector, 
seeing  her  smile,  might  have  lingered.  But  he  knew 
Easterly  —  "Dear  old  Tom!"  as  his  thoughts  indul- 
gently termed  his  conventionally-minded  friend,  and 
so  he  passed  on  to  the  street  —  the  other  accompany- 
ing him  affectionately  to  the  very  door  of  his  car,  to 
finish  their  chat.  Sir  Hector  took  his  seat,  very  beau- 
tifully —  as  if  Royalty  were  watching.  Sydney  marked 
the  wooden-faced  stiffness  of  the  orderly  at  the  wheel. 
When  she  returned  her  glance  into  the  room,  it  was 
to  encounter  that  of  Mr.  Romeyne  who  was  seated 
on  the  fender  as  his  way  often  was  when  finishing  his 
cigar.  Something  in  his  eye  encouraged  her  to  ven- 
ture a  question  :  "Is  the  General  really  a  very  brilliant 
mind?" 

"Who,  Red  Tabs?  Red  Tabs?  What  makes 
you  ask  that?  Why  the  invidious  doubt?  He's  very 
splendid  this  afternoon  at  all  events." 

I  was  meaning  his  work  on  the  Staff.     I  had 


"Yes:  you  had  heard  .  .  .?" 

"...  That  he  was  the  only  one  of  them  who  was 


i4o      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

open-minded  and  free  from  petty  personal  jealousies 
.  who  was  capable  of  new  ideas,  who  had  not 
let  officialdom  cramp  his  energies. 

Romeyne  smoked  on  contemplatively. 

"Did  you  really?  All  that?  How  very  interesting 
to  find  such  an  opinion !  I  think  it  is  probably  quite 
just.  Yes :  I  feel  sure  it  is  right.  Menzies  has  never 
been  a  narrow  man,  nor  unduly  arrogant,  nor  jealous 
of  his  authority."  She  wanted  to  ask:  "Then  why 
do  you  so  dislike  and  distrust  him?"  but  knew  she 
must  not.  Instead,  she  uttered  a  gently-interrogative. 
"Ah!"  and  waited  till  he  continued: 

"He  is  certainly  supposed  to  do  good  work  on  the 
Staff  and  that  takes  brains.  Many  people  will  tell 
you  that  he  would  do  even  better  in  France.  I  do  not 
deny  it:  I  do  not  know.  Only  there  are  moments 
when  one  feels — " 

He  broke  off  his  sentence  to  watch  the  subject  of  it 
straighten  in  his  corner  of  the  motor  and'  become,  ap- 
parently, at  once  absorbed  in  great  plans.  The  car 
slid  off  and  Sir  Thomas  turned  back  to  his  house. 
Then  Adrian  finished:  "When  one  feels  that  some- 
how Red  Tabs  is  too  good  to  be  true." 

With  Easterly's  return,  the  two  men  went  back 
into  the  library  and  closed  the  door.  Miss  Lea  was 
left  in  silent  possession  of  the  darkling  office  and  her 
own  reflections.  These  were  to  the  effect,  first,  that 
Romeyne  had  expressed!  her  own  impressions  to  a 
fine  shade;  and  second,  that  in  all  probability  Fate 
would  before  long  furnish  her  with  a  means  of  putting 
these  impressions  to  the  proof,  and  of  testing  whether 
Red  Tabs  was  really  too  good  to  be  true,  or  not.  It 
would  be  no  difficult  matter  to  introduce  the  subject  of 
Ernest  Listen  and  perhaps  to  arrange  later  on,  a  care- 
fully casual  meeting. 

The  opportunity  did  not  fail  to  present  itself  be- 
fore many  days,  although  in  an  unexpected  form.  A 


ADVENTURE  141 

question  was  to  be  asked  in  the  House  and  Sir 
Thomas  turned  to  his  friend  for  certain  of  the  requi- 
site information.  The  reply,  forwarded  promptly, 
and  containing  data  full,  succinct  and  satisfactory 
in  its  arrangement,  unquestionably  roused  the  secre- 
tary's professional  admiration  and  shook  her  doubts. 
Here  was  no  muddler.  The  postscript  contained  a 
paragraph  as  follows: 

"It  is  perfectly  true — and  disgraceful  in  my  opinion 
— that  there  has  been  no  attempt  at  all  to  go  on  with 
the  experiments  on  a  flashless  powder,  which  every- 
one was  so  keen  about.  The  young  fellow  at  work 
on  it  ten  or  twelve  years  ago  got  into  a  row  with  the 
chap  at  the  top,  who  seems  to  have  been  a  peculiarly 
vicious  example  of  mutton-headed  autocrat.  The 
investigator  showed  up  his  incompetency  but  got 
kicked  out  in  doing  it;  and  the  matter  has  stood  still 
ever  since.  So  far  as  I  can  find  out  it  was  a  serious 
loss,  since  this  chap  had  been  educated  in  Germany 
and  should  have  been  employed  by  us.  They  say  he's 
kept  on  privately  working  at  it  and  by  now  has  the 
stuff  perfected.  I  want  to  get  hold  of  that  chap,  un- 
officially, if  I  can.  His  name  is  Listen." 

"How  very  odd,  Sir  Thomas,"  ventured  the  secre- 
tary, as  she  entered  the  library,  looking  very  trig  in 
her  blue  serge,  to  lay  these  letters  before  her  chief; 
"how  really  odd  that  I  should  have  talked  with  this 
very  Listen,  of  whom  Sir  Hector  writes!" 

Sir  Thomas,  who  was  deep  in  a  paper  as  she  spoke, 
replied  "Ah  yes,"  absently  enough.  But  Sydney  knew 
his  ways.  A  certain  time  must  elapse  before  her  in- 
formation would  sink  into  his  mind  and  connect  itself 
with  the  matter  in  hand.  As  a  matter-of-fact,  it  was 
the  next  morning  before  she  was  summoned  to  the 
library  to  find  him  attentively  conning  his  friend's 
postscript.  "Did  I  understand  you  to  say,  Miss  Lea, 


142      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

that  you  were  personally  acquainted  with  this-  er-  Mr. 
Listen?"  he  asked  her. 

"I  met  him  at  luncheon  a  few  days  ago." 

"And  where,  may  I  ask?" 

"At  the  Pember  Chyne's,  Sir  Thomas." 

"Quite  so.  You  are  sure  that  it  was  the  man  Sir 
Hector  mentions?" 

"There  was  no  doubt  about  it.  We  talked  freely 
of  this  whole  matter." 

"I  see.  Now  what  impression  did  he  make  on 
you?" 

Sydney  liked  that  particular  question,  which  her 
employer  often  used  and  in  which  she  felt  a  subtle 
flattery.  This  time  she  answered  it  warmly: 

"He  is  evidently  a  remarkably  able  man." 

"Did  he  mention  this  quarrel  with  the  Ordnance 
Department?" 

"Quite  freely;  he  evidently  regretted  it  very 
much." 

"Did  he  seem  to  feel  bitter  or  ill-used?" 

Sydney  hesitated.  "Hardly  that,  I  think — I  no- 
ticed no  special  bitterness.  I  think  he  was  just 
exceedingly  sorry  not  to  be  of  use." 

"And  do  you  think  he  would  have  been?" 

"I  do  honestly.  He  has  brains  and  ideas.  And 
then,"  concluded  Sydney  adroitly,  "he  spoke  of  an 
invention  which  he  had  perfected — something  to  do 
with  powder,  but,  of  course,  he  went  into  no  details." 

Sir  Thomas  reflected  a  moment.  It  was  by  these 
interrogations  that  he  slowly  built  up  the  materials  of 
judgment. 

"Did  he  strike  you  as —  er —  discreet?" 

"That  is  a  little  'hard  to  say,"  observed  the  secre- 
tary with  frankness,  "he  is  a  reticent  type  of  man,  I 
should  say." 

"I  understand.    And  do  you  think  you  could  reach 


ADVENTURE  143 

him  in  case-  er-  Sir  Hector  wanted  a  word  with  him 
here?" 

"I  think  so,  Sir  Thomas." 

"It  must  be  a  quite  private  and  unofficial  meeting. 
By  chance,  you  understand?  He  might  just  stop  in 
and  sec  you  here — casually,  you  know." 

"Yes,  Sir  Thomas.  You  think  that  there  are  other 
officials  who  might  resent  Sir  Hector's  communicating 
wjth  Mr.  Listen — after  what  has  passed?" 

"You  have  my  meaning,"  answered  Sir  Thomas 
with  just  a  shade  of  reluctance  at  having  to  be  explicit, 
and  the  subject  was  closed. 

The  following  letter  was  written  to  Ernest  Liston 
that  afternoon. 

"Dear  Mr.  Liston: 

Do  you  remember,  in  our  talk  together  at 
Mrs.  Chyne's  table,  your  telling  me  of  your  desire  to 
bring  the  matter  of  your  invention  to  the  attention 
of  Sir  Hector  Menzies?  Well,  I  happen  to  have 
learned  that  he  has  heard  about  it  and  might  perhaps 
like  to  meet  you.  If  you  care  to  drop  in  to  see  me 
here  on  Thursday  week  at  about  four,  I  think  there 
is  a  chance  that  he  might  look  in  just  before  tea. 
This  is  all  unofficial — but  no  doubt  you  understand. 

"Yours  very  sincerely, 

"Sydney  Lea." 

"A  very  proper  note — very  cautious  indeed !"  was 
Sir  Thomas's  comment  when  this  letter  was  laid  be- 
fore him,  and  he  looked  at  his  secretary  with  an  eye 
that  faintly  twinkled. 

"What  born  diplomats  women  are !"  was  his  reflec- 
tion. 

Miss  Lea  as  she  posted  it  on  her  way  home  was  by 
way  of  thinking:  Now,  Red  Tabs,  we  shall  see  if 
Mr.  Romeyne  is  right." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ERNEST  LISTON  was  very  much  surprised  at  receiv- 
ing this  note  from  the  young  lady  with  whom  he 
remembered  chatting  so  sympathetically  at  luncheon. 
He  had  an  Englishman's  rooted  distrust  of  feminine 
advances  and  this,  made  as  it  was  in  so  impersonally 
friendly  a  manner,  had  an  exotic  quality  which  he 
could  not  understand.  His  experiences  of  women 
thus  far  had  only  brought  him  into  contact  with  their 
cruder  methods  of  attack,  while  of  comradely  kind- 
ness free  of  coquetry,  he  knew  nothing. 

Who  was  the  lady?  What  would  she  want  of  him 
in  return?  Why  should  she  scatter  largesse  in  the 
shape  of  coveted  interviews? — to  take  place,  too,  in 
just  such  surroundings,  private  and  intimate,  which 
were  all  he  could  have  desired  in  the  way  of  atmos- 
phere, wherein  both  he  and  the  potentate  he  was  to 
meet  might  express  their  ideas  with  ease  and  frank- 
ness. He  hastened  to  Mrs.  Pember  Chyne  in  his 
perplexity,  only  to  find  that  it  made  her  both  amused 
and  indignant. 

"My  dear  boy — this  is  too  much!  Haven't  you 
been  crazy  for  six  months  to  meet  this  man?  Surely 
you  are  not  going  to  quarrel  with  it  now  I" 

"Not  at  all  ...  not  in  the  least !  But  why  should 
she  put  herself  out?  What  return  will  she  expect  .  . . 
I  have  neither  time  nor  money  to  be  paying  her  atten- 
tion I  I  am  nothing  of  a  ladies'  man." 

"Attention?  In  return  for  this  .  .  .?  But  why 
should  you  ?" 

"Well,  she  will  expect  some  return  will  she  not? 
Else  why  single  me  out?" 

144 


ADVENTURE  145 

Rhoda  looked  impatiently  at  him  as  he  ran  his 
fingers  boyishly  through  his  furry  hair. 

"Why?  First,  I  suspect  because  you  are  a  friend 
of  Walter's  and  mine  and  because  I  spoke  to  her 
about  you.  Second,  because  you  are  striving  to  make 
your  way  in  the  world  just  as  Sydney  herself,  and  that 
is  all  the  way  she  thinks  of  you — as  a  fellow-worker, 
in  the  American  sense  1" 

"The  American  idea  must  be  very  different  from 
ours  then  I" 

"I  think  it  is  ...  the  relations  between  the  sexes 
at  work  is  different.  Men  and  women  are  much  more 
on  an  equality,  and  their  attitude  toward  one  another 
is  apt  to  be  much  more  comradely.  The  idea  of  sex  is 
not  so  eternally  uppermost  as  it  is  with  us.  ... 
When  I  was  in  the  States  people  told  me  that  some- 
times it  was  not  enough  uppermost.  .  .  .  You  know 
what  we  are — "  cried  Rhoda  in  her  fiery,  little  way. 
"Englishwomen  do  a  man  a  favor  for  only  two  rea- 
sons— to  get  his  money  or  to  rouse  his  passions.  .  .  . 
A  Countess  will  not  hesitate  to  do  both." 

"And  as  Miss  Lea  is  not  a  Countess — ?" 

"You  are  a  horrid  little  man,  Ernest,  .  .  .  I've 
no  patience  with  you.  You  are  more  insular  than  I 
dreamed  I" 

"In  spite  of  your  hard  names,  I  am  impressed  by 
what  you  tell  me.  You  think  that  because  she  is 
ambitious  herself,  she  had  a  friendly  feeling  toward 
me?" 

"I  am  sure  of  it." 

"And  she's  not  coquetting?  Not  trying  to  hook 
me?" 

"No  more  than  if  you  were  another  girl." 

"Well,  we  shall  see,"  said  Liston;  but  he  did  not 
look  convinced.  Fate  decreed  however  that  the  girl 
herself  should  drop  in  that  afternoon,  quite  inno- 


146      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

cently.  She  greeted  her  friend  with  affection;  and 
extended  her  hand  to  Listen  with  a  smile  so  wholly 
free  from  any  self-consciousness  that  he  felt  ashamed 
of  his  earlier  suspicions. 

"My  dear —  Ernest  thinks — "  said  Rhoda  giving 
Sydney  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  little  pat  on  the  shoulder 
as  she  did  so — "that  you  haven't  any  reason  for  being 
so  nice  to  him  as  you  have  been." 

"Oh  well,  I  don't  know,"  turning  her  head  with  a 
smile — "after  all,  aren't  we  both  trying  to  make  our 
own  way  in  this  world?  I'd  do  the  same  for  any  girl 
or  man  I  know  at  home.  .  .  .  When  he's  a  great 
power  in  the  land  perhaps  he'll  know  of  someone  wiio 
needs  a  secretary." 

"Do  you  expect,  then,  to  leave  your  present  posi- 
tion?" asked  Ernest  Listen,  who  was  not  a  perceptive 
or  quick  man,  after  all. 

"Not  at  all,  if  I  can  help  it.  But  Sir  Thomas  may 
not  want  to  keep  me,  you  know!" 

He  was  still  in  the  mood  to  demur  a  little.  "I 
really  hardly  like  to  put  myself  under  such  an  obliga- 
tion to  you  when  I  am  quite  unable  to — " 

"To  what?  Why,  you're  not  doing  that  in  the 
least!"  she  cried,  genuinely  surprised  and  opening  her 
large  eyes  at  him. 

"The  calling  on  me  is  just  a  pretext  in  order  to 
satisfy  Sir  Thomas.  Why,  I  may  not  even  be  there !" 

Liston  was  silenced,  and  with  the  consciousness 
that  here  was  a  new  kind  of  a  person.  Relief  and  ex- 
citement at  thought  of  the  long  desired  interview 
which  was  to  be  his,  took  entire  possession  of  his  mind. 
He  stayed  only  a  few  moments  longer. 

Of  the  meeting  thus  planned,  the  secretary  need- 
less to  say,  saw  nothing  but  the  introduction.  She 
thought  that  the  General,  very  gorgeous  and  very 
affable,  noted  with  a  glance  of  real  penetration,  the 
characteristics  of  the  small-voiced  and  spectacled 


ADVENTURE  147 

younger  man.  The  inventor's  manner  was  a  trifle  shy 
and  stiff.  They  went  into  the  study  and  half  an  hour 
later,  Liston  came  out  with  a  quick  step  and  a  hopeful 
ring  in  the  voice  that  repeated  :- 

"Thank  you,  sir  1    I  shall  be  there !" 

He  only  bowed  to  her  as  he  hurried  away,  but  she 
was  satisfied.  A  few  minutes  later,  Easterly  and  his 
friend  came  into  the  office  and  continued  their  talk. 

"There  is  evidently  a  good  deal  in  it  and  the  mat- 
ter should  be  taken  up  by  us  without  delay  .  .  .The 
question  is  how.  ...  A  thousand  pities  the  fellow 
got  himself  in  wrong  as  he  did  .  .  .  .it  complicates 
everything.  I  shall  have  some  enquiries  made  at 
Storey's  Gate  and  then  I  can  talk  to  the  Minister 
myself.  ...  I  can't  imagine  what  our  people  can  be 
thinking  of  to  let  all  these  ideas  get  by  them !" 

"My  dear  chap,  you  know  what  they  arc.  And 
one  can  see  that  this  fella  is  a  damned  independent 
sort  of  a  fella — " 

"What  does  it  matter  what  sort  of  a  fella  he  is 
if  he  has  the  brains  we  need?"  declared  Menzies, 
with  just  a  touch  of  impatience.  At  that  instant,  he 
observed  that  the  eyes  of  the  young  lady  at  the  desk, 
— 'large,  handsome  eyes  too — were  fixed  on  him 
with  approval. 

"Well,  well,  Miss  Lea  I"  he  remarked,  showing  a 
row  of  white  teeth,  "does  that  remark  of  mine  sur- 
prise you?" 

Sir  Thomas  turned  also,  and  Sydney  flushed  a 
little,  as  she  answered : 

"I  was  only  so  very  glad,  Sir  Hector,  to  hear  you 
say  so — when  brains  are  so  much  needed  .  .  .  and 
when  all  the  others.  .  .  .  P* 

"Pretty  personal  in  their  quarrels,  eh?" 

"It  seems  to  me  so." 

"Perhaps  they  are — some  of  'em  at  least.  But 
whatever  this  whats-his-name  said  or  did  in  the  year 


i48      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

1905  ought  to  make  no  manner  of  difference  if  he 
has  the  ideas  we  need  in  1915." 

"Quite  so,  Sir  Hector,"  the  secretary  murmured, 
conscious  of  a  shade  of  disapproval  on  Sir  Thomas's 
brow.  She  bent  again  over  her  work  and  did  not  lift 
her  eyes  from  it,  as  the  splendid,  soldierly  figure  that 
seemed  to  radiate  energy,  success,  good-humour,  left 
the  room. 

"Clever  gal,  that —  Tom —  eh?"  said  Menzies 
beaming,  as  he  stepped  into  his  car. 

One  of  those  most  unsatisfactory  things  in  a  secre- 
tary's life,  Sydney  reflected,  was  that  it  was  so  often 
concerned  merely  with  beginnings.  After  awhile, 
things  slipped  away  from  her  into  limbo  and  she  heard 
no  more  about  them.  True,  a  month  afterwards,  Sir 
Thomas  told  her  that  the  General  ha.d  been  much  im- 
pressed with  the  tests  of  Ernest  Liston's  new  powder 
which  had  taken  place  at  Newcastle  for  his  benefit. 
They  were  to  be  repeated  officially,  and  Menzies  was 
preparing  to  press  the  matter  on  the  attention  of  the 
War  Department. 

Three  weeks  slipped  by  and  she  heard  nothing 
more.  Sir  Hector  went  to  France  and  returned.  He 
was  very  much  occupied.  As  for  the  inventor,  he 
was  so  busy,  that  his  visits  to  the  Pember  Chyne's 
were  rare. 

At  last, — after  a  long  time,  she  did  encounter  him 
there  and  thought  that  his  eyes  looked  more  weary 
and  lack-lustre  than  ever.  He  was  willing  to  talk 
but  had  nothing  to  tell  her  of  but  delays. 

"There  is  so  little  news — our  people  are  incredibly 
slow — they  madden  me.  Some  tests  have  taken  place 
and  others  are  to  follow.  I  should  despair  if  it  were 
not  for  Menzies.  He  is  splendid  and  so  confident." 

"Hew  confident,  then?" 

"Oh  absolutely!    Of  course,  my  previous  record  is 


ADVENTURE  149 

against  me  and  it  is  a  hard  struggle.  But  then  he's 
a  powerful  man." 

His  low  tones  lightened,  thrilled  a  little.  Evi- 
dently, the  good-looks,  the  splendor  of  the  elder  man; 
the  dazzling,  easy  kindness  which  springs  so  readily 
from  having  everything  one  wants,  had  won  him 
wholly.  Was  not  this  usually  the  case  with  a  person- 
ality so  attractive  ?  Too  often  the  case  perhaps,  with 
the  glamour  of  a  high  place,  in  a  country  where  such 
glamour  still  brings  reverence? 

She  recalled  that  faint  curve  of  the  lip  with  which 
Adrian  Romeyne  had  alluded  to  Red  Tabs,  and  her 
doubt  rose  to  the  surface. 

"If  only  he  stays  with  you  and  sees  it  through — " 

He  looked  at  her  askance,  that  shy  wild-animal 
glance  of  his,  which  this  time  had  shock  and  dislike 
in  it. 

"Why  should  he  not?  He's  too  big  a  chap  to  be, 
what  you  call  in  the  States  a  quitter.  What  makes  you 
think  so?" 

"I  hardly  know.  .  .  .  Sir  Thomas  trusts  him  I 
know,  almost  as  much  as  he  does  Mr.  Romeyne." 

"Almost — but  not  quite?" 

"No,  not  quite,"  she  answered,  colouring  faintly  as 
his  ironical  inflection  raised  her  doubt  into  higher 
relief,  "but  then  General  Menzies  is  not  a  statesman, 
but  a  soldier.  It  is  not  his  business  to  know  so  much 
about  character.  .  .  .  Then  you  do  not  expect  a 
decision  for  some  time?" 

"Not  before  Spring,  I  fear."  He  had  lapsed  into 
his  mild,  indifferent  manner;  and  Sydney,  when  they 
parted,  had  the  feeling  that  this  only  half-human 
creature  had  as  it  were  crept  back  into  its  cover  and 
was  not  likely  to  show  itself  again. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  months,  great  wheels,  crushing  life  and  hope 
beneath  them,  rolled  on.  Another  year  of  War  had 
gone  by.  Prophets  and  philosophers  alike  derived 
very  little  comfort  from  the  events  that  had  occurred 
and  the  world  as  a  whole  lived  but  for  the  day. 
The  Easter  Rebellion  in  Ireland — strange  spectacle 
of  violence  and  hysteria  on  both  sides — came  and 
passed — together  with  the  amazing  finale,  when  the 
Prime  Minister  made  to  the  rebels  a  pilgrimage 
of  apology  and  pardon.  This  was  an  incident  that 
reassured  nobody.  Adrian  Romeyne  had  run  over 
to  Dublin  and  returned  more  depressed  than  his 
friend  Easterly  had  yet  seen  him,  although  it 
is  true  that  long  before  the  Irish  Rebellion  both 
of  these  men  had  expressed  to  each  other — if 
not  to  the  world  at  large — their  lack  of  confi- 
dence in  the  present  Government.  "Of  course," 
as  Romeyne  said,  speaking  with  deliberation,  "loss 
of  confidence  in  Government  during  a  War  is  tradi- 
tional— but  in  this  case  it  seems  to  be  more  than 
usually  justified." 

Meanwhile  conscription  had  come  and  men  were 
slowly  but  surely  disappearing  from  the  London 
streets.  Life  held  a  pressure  and  a  pre-occupation 
which  were  in  themselves  new  and  unpleasant  to  an 
unhurried  and  leisure-loving  generation.  Things  hap- 
pened. Fear  took  possession  of  existence,  although 
the  populace  showed  it  very  little,  yet  slowly  it  began 
to  transform  their  habits  and  lend  uncertainty  to  their 
plans.  Incidents  occurred  which  brought  home  to  the 
English  people,  living  safe  and  sheltered  in  their  smil- 

150 


ADVENTURE  151 

ing  country,  the  fact  there  was  a  novel  and  malign 
activity  in  the  universe,  which  threatened  their  classic 
security.  Tragedy  seemed  to  stalk  across  the  stage, 
not  singly,  but  in  procession.  Men  died.  One 
opened  the  newspaper  day  after  day  and  there  was 
but  one  word  written  on  its  page.  Lord  Kitchener, 
like  one  of  the  heroes  in  Homer,  passed  to  his  terrible 
and  mysterious  end — in  his  going,  strange  and  enig- 
matical as  he  had  lived.  There  were  one  or  two  naval 
engagements  and  death,  too,  was  busy  on  the  North 
Sea.  This  was  familiar  and  expected  by  most  people, 
who  were  graver  in  their  attitude  toward  the  first 
Zeppelin  raids — an  earnest  of  what  was  to  come  and 
ominous  to  many  who  yet  affected  to  regard  them 
lightly.  Following  them,  'had  come  a  great  outcry 
for  defence  and  reprisal — workmen  and  soldiers 
busied  themselves  with  strange  machinery  in  various 
parts  and  parks  of  London;  while  the  evening  dusk 
was  stabbed  by  shining  swords  of  light.  In  France 
and  in  Flanders  the  duel  of  millions  swayed  to  and 
fro.  In  London,  huts  and  buildings  sprung  up  and 
blotted  out  the  turf;  red  crosses  marked  many  stately 
doorways;  hotels  were  turned  into  hospitals;  motor- 
trucks ran  about  the  streets;  foreign  uniforms  in- 
creased, and  one-legged  men  increased;  and  hospital 
blue  alternated  with  the  dominant  khaki  color  at  every 
street-corner.  In  Parliament  Square,  Big  Ben  was 
voiceless;  and  inside  the  Abbey,  mothers  came  at  noon 
to  pray,  and  great-limbed  Colonial  soldiers  to  stare 
and  wonder.  Up  and  down  Whitehall,  women  of  all 
ages  ran  about  with  their  hands  full  of  papers.  Yet 
who  could  say  that  this  month  of  June,  1916,  was  any 
nearer  to  the  end?  There  seemed  to  be  no  individual 
life,  or  pursuits  or  ambitions — there  was  only  the 
War.  Men  felt  as  if  they  had  been  born  with  the 
War,  that  only  since  the  War  had  they  been  sentient 
beings — and  that  life  before  the  War — that  life  of 


152      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

leisure,  and  pleasure  and  personal  hopes  and  fear* 
and  avocations,  was  something  which  they  had  read 
about  in  the  yellowing  pages  of  ancient  books.  The 
machinery  of  the  War — here  in  London  at  least,  filled 
the  air  with  its  clamor  and  drowned  out  every  other 
sound. 

Yet  Sydney  had  never  had  more  individual  per- 
plexities. One  of  them  concerned  Hilda  Fredericks, 
who  sought  her  society  persistently,  especially  since 
Sir  Thomas  had  been  made  the  Chairman  to  the 
Aliens  Internment  Committee.  The  other  concerned 
Eric  Violand.  The  young  officer  had  been  slightly 
wounded  and  on  leave  during  his  convalescence,  and 
it  was  not  unnatural  that  he  should  expect  to  get 
everything  he  wanted.  That  he  should  have  taken 
this  occasion  to  fall  in  love  with  his  aunt's  guest  was 
probably  not  unnatural  either,  but  it  filled  the  object 
of  his  admiration  with  impatience.  Just  when  one 
was  so  busy  and  with  matters  of  real  importance,  to 
have  this  silly  boy  turn  jealous  and  sulky.  It  was 
really  too  much! 

The  result  had  been  a  real  quarrel,  during  which 
poor  Eric  had  accused  her  of  heartlessness  and  ambi- 
tion, and  then,  seeing  her  stand  there  so  cool  and 
untroubled,  had  rushed  on  into  saying  unforgivable 
things. 

"Oh  I  know  its  because  you  think  you're  running 
the  whole  show !  You'd  be  kind  enough  to  me  if  you 
thought  I  was  going  to  help  you  on.  You'd  be  soft 
enough  if  you  thought  I  was  an  important  political 
chap,  or  an  M.  P.  or  something  like  that.  You'd 
stroll  across  the  Park  with  me  if  you  thought  I  was 
worth  while.  You're  not  heartless  to  that  fellow 
Romeyne — ." 

He  checked  before  the  sudden  blaze  in  her  eyes, 
and  as  she  left  the  room  she  saw  the  remorse  in  his 
face,  but  she  did  not  stay  for  his  low  call.  In  the 


ADVENTURE  153 

street  she  had  to  stand  an  instant  to  control  her 
breathing. 

As  to  what  Eric  meant  she  knew  very  well,  although 
it  seemed  sheer  cruelty  to  give  a  name  to  that  figure  of 
her  dreams.  .  .  .  There  had  been  many  times 
when  she  had  to  see  Romeyne  during  the  past  year — 
occasions  in  which  something  he  said,  something  she 
replied,  had  brought  their  eyes  to  meet,  subtle  sym- 
pathy in  her  gaze  and  in  his  a  surprised  response. . . . 
Eric  could  not  know  of  these  meetings.  But  about  a 
fortnight  ago,  when  hurrying  through  St.  James  Park 
past  the  new  concrete  Lake  Building,  she  had  encoun- 
tered Romeyne  walking  slowly  in  the  direction  of 
Westminister  and  he  'had  for  five  minutes,  fallen  into 
step  beside  her.  He  tucked  his  stick  under  his  arm 
and  clasped  his  hands  behind  his  back  and  moved  with 
that  air  of  leisurely  deliberation  which  only  he  among 
busy  men  could  have  at  eleven  in  the  morning.  He 
talked;  and  she  remembered  every  word.  A  brief 
estimate  of  the  day's  news,  a  hint  as  to  what  was 
likely  to  come  out  in  the  evening  papers;  comment  on 
Sir  Thomas's  part  in  the  debate  last  evening,  with  a 
faint  subtle  flavor  of  flattery  in  it  for  his  secretary; 
an  enquiry  as  to  her  reading — she  had  not  forgotten. 
Then  at  the  corner  of  Bird  Cage  Walk,  he  turned  to- 
ward Queen  Anne's  Gate  and  their  eyes  met.  .  .  . 
What  splendid,  intense  eyes  the  girl  hadl  Romeyne 
was  conscious  of  a  thrill  of  surprise— -a  surprise 
which  brought  with  it  a  touch  of  disquiet. 

Sydney  went  on  to  Westminister  in  a  daze.  .  .  . 
These  golden  moments  .  .  .  that  life  should  hold 
theml  She  had  never  even  seen  the  young  officer 
with  his  blue  band,  seated  on  a  bench,  and  when  he 
mentioned  the  fact  at  lunch-time,  she  underwent 
marked  vexation.  She  had  not  wanted  any  eye  to  see, 
she  alone  wished  to  mark  the  passing  of  that  golden 
moment. 


154      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

Her  mind  had  played  over  it  and  the  other  mo- 
ments of  the  same  kind  which  the  Spring  had  brought 
her.  Romeyne  had  much  need  of  consultation  with 
his  friend  Easterly  in  the  library  at  Charles  Street. 
Long  quiet  talks  followed,  during  which  their  voices 
reached  the  secretary  only  as  a  dim  murmur.  But 
there  would  be  that  instant  when  the  doors  were 
opened,  when  he  came  out.  Once  or  twice  Romeyne 
had  been  conscious — not  pleasurably,  but  yet  keenly 
conscious,  of  the  woman's  face,  with  great  eyes  turned 
toward  his  entrance. 

Golden  moments  to  remember  were  these.  A 
courteous  greeting,  perhaps;  then  she  would  rise, 
tap  on  the  panel. 

"Mr.  Romeyne,  Sir  Thomas!'' 

"Oh  come  in,  my  dear  chap!"  and  the  door  closed. 
.  .  .Then  sometimes,  Sir  Thomas  would  be  late; 
and  his  friend,  awaiting  him,  perched  on  the  fender 
reading  the  newspaper,  perhaps  making  some  com- 
ment as  he  read.  Once  or  twice,  he  even  talked — 
freely,  picturesquely,  in  his  best  vein — and  it  was  sur- 
prising how  what  she  replied  seemed  always  to  make 
him  feel  in  his  best  vein. 

"That  American  secretary  of  yours,"  he  remarked 
to  Sir  Thomas,  "has  the  great  gift  of  making  a  man 
feel  how  clever  he  is." 

"She  is  very  discreet,"  said  Sir  Thomas  hastily, 
and  Adrian  smiled  secretly  and  said  no  more. 

What  was  it? — the  eyes  and  mouth,  the  face  so 
expressive  of  intensity,  of  power?  Once  or  twice, 
Romeyne  found  his  mind  over  occupied  with  specula- 
tion on  the  subject.  Perhaps  had  he  been  a  younger 
man — he  told  himself — he  might  have  tried  to  deter- 
mine the  quality  and  depth  of  that  store  of  talent  and 
temperament.  .  .  .  Then  the  curtain  of  cyni- 
cism descended  upon  such  thoughts.  This  was  only, 
after  all,  the  charm  of  the  barbarian — of  the  stranger 


ADVENTURE  155 

woman  from  beyond  the  seas.  It  was  well  no  doubt 
that  work  and  ambition  placed  him  out  of  all  danger. 

Sydney,  bending  over  her  typewriter,  tasted  a  subtle 
exultation  of  which  the  sources  were  as  yet  youthful 
and  imaginative  only.  The  courteous  deference,  the 
winged  words — these  things  she  cherished  in  her 
heart.  Maybe  some  slight  service  had  been  asked  of 
her,  "Miss  Lea — perhaps  you  would  know — ?"  And 
that  would  be  dreamed  over,  its  full  joy  savored  in 
memory. 

All  these  things  had  remained  vague,  intangible, 
clouded  in  the  silver  veils  of  youth's  reticent  imagina- 
tion. Immaturity,  ignorance  of  life,  loneliness,  hero- 
worship — these  were  some  of  the  elements  which  time 
might  disperse  as  harmlessly  as  they  came,  or  which, 
on  the  other  hand —  At  any  rate,  self-consciousness 
brought  pain  with  it  and  embarrassment  and  strong 
resentment.  As  Sydney  hurried  to  her  work  she  felt 
a  fierce  anger  against  Eric  Violand. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

LUCKILY,  her  tardiness  that  afternoon  did  not  mat- 
ter, as  Sir  Thomas  was  not  likely  to  be  soon  released 
from  the  speeches  at  the  end  of  luncheon.  Someone 
was  waiting  for  him,  however,  a  tall,  cavalry  officer, 
whose  tunic  bore  a  long  row  of  war  ribbons,  and  who 
turned  towards  her  with  a  cat-like  swiftness  of  move- 
ment which  seemed  somehow  familiar.  His  dark 
face  broke  suddenly  into  a  smile. 

.  .  .  So  you  did  get  safely  to  England 
after  all  I  By  Jove, — you  know,  I've  often  won- 
dered!" 

Sydney  had  not  forgotten.  It  was  the  man  who 
had  helped  her  to  regain  her  place  in  the  queue  at 
Cook's  in  Geneva,  and  whom  she  had  seen  afterwards 
in  the  train.  She  had  never  lost  the  impression  of 
his  personality.  The  face,  however,  which  smiled 
down  on  her  now  was  thin  and  worn. 

"And  you  say  you  are  secretary  to  an  M.  P. — by 
Jove,  what  a  turn  in  fortune's  wheel,  eh?  I  say, 
mustn't  we  be  introduced?" 

"We  must  indeed — my  name  is  Sydney  Lea." 
"And  I'm  Harry  Ashburnham." 
"Not  really — not  the  Col.  Ashburnham  ?" 
"Well,  I  don't  use  the  little  article,  myself." 
"But  surely,  the  world  does — I"  the  girl  sat  down, 
her  hands  clasped  on  her  knee:    "Isn't  this  the  most 
extraordinary  meeting  ?    You  came  to  see  Sir  Thomas, 
of  course  ?" 

"Yes,  I've  an  appointment  with  him.  rA  friend  of 
mine  arranged  it,  who's  a  Trien'd  of  his.  A1  chap 
named  Romeyne,  quite  a  wonderful  cHap." 

156 


ADVENTURE  157 

She   nodded  eager   agreement.      "I'm  afraid    Sir 

Thomas  will  be  late  ...  if  you  don't  mind  waiting. 

.     And  I  do  so  want  to  hear  all  about  you 

.     you  know  we  were  in  the  same  train  leaving 

Geneva." 

"I  didn't  know  it — how  odd !" 

"But  I  never  dreamed  of  seeing  you  again — nor 
that  you  were  in  the  army.  You  didn't  wear  a  uni- 
form then." 

"No,  and  for  the  best  of  reasons.  You  see  the 
truth  was  that  I  had  been  in  Germany  and  had  a 
narrow  squeak  getting  out.  I'd  have  been  there  yet, 
interned  or  dead,  but  a  countryman  of  yours — the  best 
ever !  He  was  consul  at  a  little  place  on  the  border 
and  he  knew  a  path  in  a  thick  wood  which  had  been 
overlooked.  I  lay  all  night  in  a  thicket  and  slipped 
over  the  border  in  the  dawn.  A  stray  sentry  shot 
at  me — on  the  Swiss  side,  too,  by  the  way — but  he 
missed  and  didn't  try  again.  I'd  a  long  scramble  for 
my  breakfast — and  the  woods  were  beautiful." 

"And  the  breakfast?" 

"Georgeous,  really,  when  I  finally  got  one."  He 
laughed;  his  face  full  of  light. 

"And  then?    I  mean,  since  that  time?" 

"Oh  well — just  the  usual  thing — " 

"Very  unusual,  the  newspapers  thought,"  said 
Sydney,  "but  do  tell  me  about  it." 

He  told  her :  he  was  still  telling  her  when  Easterly 
came  in  at  a  quarter  to  four  and  he  broke  off  and  went 
for  a  long  conference  in  the  library.  When  he  came 
out  an  hour  later,  Sydney  was  not  alone  in  the  office. 
An  elderly  person  was  seated  there  waiting,  a  man 
with  a  heavy  face,  protruding  lips  and  drooping  eye- 
lids, whose  clothes  were  suggestive  of  the  fashions 
during  the  reign  of  King  Edward.  He  blinked  at  the 
tall  officer  and  rose:  the  secretary  formerly  ushered 
him  into  the  inner  room.  Ashburnham  heard  the 


158      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

name:  "Sir  Jacob  Fredericks,  Sir  Thomas — "  and 
then  the  door  closed  upon  guttural  greetings.  He 
strolled  across  to  the  girl's  side,  smiling. 

"I  say,"  he  said,  lowering  his  voice,  "isn't  your 
friend  a  Hun?" 

Sydney  gave  a  perceptible  shudder.  "I  don't  know 
— oh,  I  suppose  not — "  she  spoke  confusedly  as 
though  the  idea  discomposed  her;  and  the  soldier  in 
his  quick  way,  changed  the  subject. 

"Well  let's  not  waste  our  time  on  him.  We  must 
arrange  to  finish  this  talk.  Fate  has  evidently  meant 
we  should  be  friends  and  we  mustn't  disappoint  her. 
May  I  come  and  see  you  some  evening?" 

He  was  so  gay,  so  spirited  and  friendly,  so  lacking 
in  those  cautions  and  reserves  which  she  had  come  to 
look  for  among  his  countryfolk,  that  Sydney's  heart 
warmed  to  him.  She  gave  him  her  address,  and  she 
watched  him  passing  down  the  street  with  his  un- 
deniable touch  of  swagger — wondering  whether  he 
would  turn  up  again.  When  he  did,  it  was  with  a 
manner  to  suggest  that  they  were  already  old  friends, 
a  manner  quite  devoid  of  the  condescensions  of  his 
sex.  He  puzzled  her  and  she  gave  utterance  to  it  in 
a  way  that  much  amused  him. 

"Surely  you're  not  wholly  English?"  at  which  he 
threw  back  his  head  and  laughed.  Then,  finding  her 
interest  real  and  being  eager  to  talk,  he  gave  her  some 
account  of  himself — opening  a  new  world  to  her. 
This  narrative  occupied  many  interviews — walks  and 
talks  in  the  Park  when  the  evening  band  played,  tea 
up  the  River  on  a  Saturday  or  Sunday,  a  play  or  two. 
And  always  Sydney  was  conscious  of  no  strain  in 
talking  with  the  man,  who  accepted  her  ^work,  her 
place  in  the  world  and  herself,  with  a  simplicity  which 
came  from  a  wide  experience  of  life. 

Harry  Ashburnham  was  a  North  countryman.  He 
came  from  a  Cumberland  family  of  fighters,  lean, 


ADVENTURE  159 

Drown  active  men  as  keen  and  brilliant  as  their  own 
sword-blades.  From  the  first  year  of  his  service  in 
the  Indian  Army,  he  had  distinguished  himself  by 
personal  and  mental  qualities  of  a  high  order.  Not 
only  had  he  dash  and  resource  in  the  field,  but  his 
physical  vitality  and  energy  kept  him  at  work  while 
other  men  rested,  so  he  came  to  have  a  stock  of  very 
special  knowledge  of  great  value  to  his  superiors. 
Cultivating  a  natural  facility  for  languages,  he  grew 
to  attain  fluent  ease  in  Russian  and  Persian  and  many 
Hill  dialects;  and  even  a  smattering  of  Turkish  and 
Chinese.  After  a  wound  on  the  Afghan  border,  he 
had  been  transferred  from  active  service  to  the  In- 
telligence Department,  where  his  talents  were  of 
special  use.  For  several  years,  his  time  was  spent  in 
strange  tasks  and  travels;  and  he  labored,  always  in 
some  danger  and  in  dark  and  devious  underground 
ways.  It  was  said  he  had  been  to  Lhasa,  but  how, 
never  was  told  nor  did  he  tell  Sydney  Lea.  Also, 
that  he  had  been  the  only  Englishman  present  at  a 
singular  interview  between  the  Tashai  and  the  Dalai 
Lamas,  at  which  various  explorers  have  hinted,  but 
of  which  nothing  was  really  known.  He  had  been 
sent  on  special  missions  into  Mongolia  and  to  Persia; 
he  had  disappeared  for  months,  wearing  the  yellow 
robes  of  a  holy  man ;  or  turning  up  on  a  tramp  steamer 
bound  for  Trincomalee.  The  outbreak  of  war  had 
found  him  in  Germany;  and  it  was  altogether  charac- 
teristic of  the  man  that  even  in  mid-career  of  narra- 
tive, when  she  ail-innocently  questioned  him  as  to  his 
reasons  for  being  there,  he  merely  raised  an  ironical 
eye-brow  and  curled  a  lip  at  her.  But  he  never 
answered  a  word.  One  felt  that  the  flexibility  of  this 
nature  was  that  of  steel. 

On  mobilization,  at  his  own  request,  he  rejoined 
his  regiment  and  was  sent  to  France  with  the  first 
detachments  of  Indian  troops.  Soon  after,  a  feat  of 


160     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

remarkable  personal  daring  lengthened  the  strip  of 
gay  colors  which  adorned  his  tunic  and  brought  his 
name  for  the  first  time  before  the  public.  It  was  a 
feat  important  enough  to  overcome  in  his  case,  the 
hostile  jealousy  with  which  the  Indian  Army  was 
regarded  by  the  British  Army  and  the  War  Office, 
an  hostility  dating  from  a  cleavage  of  a  century  ago, 
but  which  effectively  deprived  the  officers  of  the 
Indian  Army  from  a  chance  of  distinction.  Ash- 
burnham's  second  exploit,  in  no  way  less  daring  than 
the  first,  made  his  name  familiar  to  the  whole  Empire 
but  it  well-nigh  cost  him  his  life  and  he  was  months 
in  recovering.  These  were  important  months  because 
they  altered  and  shifted  the  balance  of  power  at  the 
War  Office,  they  marked  the  passing  of  Kitchener 
and  the  end  of  the  voluntary  system. 

By  the  time  Colonel  Ashburnham  was  on  his  feet 
again,  the  Indian  troops  had  been  transferred  to  the 
forlorn  hope  of  Mesopotamia.  Although  he  was  still 
in  his  thirties,  he  was  no  longer  a  boy,  and  his  severe 
wound  had  had  its  effect.  The  Medical  Board  re- 
fused to  pass  him  for  the  Mesopotamian  campaign. 
Hence  he  felt  he  must  find  something  else  to  do,  "un- 
til" as  'he  put  it,  he  could  "convince  the  Johnnies  that 
they  were  asses."  He  did  not  say  what  the  "some- 
thing" was  to  be;  but  there  seemed  little  doubt  that 
a  man  with  so  many  honours  to  his  credit,  even 
though  he  chanced,  unfortunately  for  him,  to  be  an 
Indian  Officer,  would  probably  get  what  he  wished. 
So  Easterly  must  be  consulted,  and  Romeyne,  "the 
dynamo  that  runs  the  plant,"  would  set  the  needful 
forces  into  operation. 

All  this  was  very  fascinating  to  hear  and  Ash- 
burnham, as  a  narrator,  had  an  especial  vividness  in 
play  of  lip  and  eyebrow  and  eloquent  gesture  particu- 
larly his  own.  He  was  a  strange  fellow.  At  moments 
no  one  could  be  more  childlike,  his  energy  overflowing 


ADVENTURE  161 

into  wild  spirits  like  a  schoolboy,  his  mind  running 
over  with  ingenuities  and  his  speech  with  ejacula- 
tions. Beside  him  she  felt  utterly  staid  and  middle 
aged — like  an  elder  sister.  He  was  not  in  the  least 
like  Eric  Violand  or  General  Menzies  and  the  other 
soldiers  she  had  met — matter-of-fact  about  War  and 
its  risks.  He  was  not  matter-of-fact  about  anything 
which  he  enjoyed  so  intensely.  He  found  all  danger 
"perfectly  splendid;" — from  a  night  sortie  on  die 
German  trenches — to  killing  a  tiger  single-handed  in 
the  jungle — "the  only  really  decent  way."  There 
were  moments  when  she  looked  at  his  thin  face  with 
its  big,  high  nose,  its  brilliant  eyes  and  the  swift  exul- 
tation of  its  expression,  with  a  sort  of  terror,  terror 
of  the  things  which  for  him  made  life,  just  as  they 
had  made  up  life  for  the  soldier  of  a  thousand  years 
ago. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THEY  became,  in  a  few  days,  very  great  friends  in- 
deed, and  as  Ashburnham  was  not  given  to  conceal- 
ing his  feelings  unless  'his  work  was  involved,  his  part 
of  this  friendship  became  plain  for  all  to  see. 

"And  so,"  remarked  Romeyne,  as  he  held  his  stick 
across  his  knee,  waiting  for  Sir  Thomas,  "you  have 
made  friends  with  my  beau-sabreur?" 

His  voice,  as  usual  was  non-committal,  but  Miss 
Lea  detected,  or  thought  she  did,  an  undercurrent  of 
amusement.  She  straightened  the  sheet  of  paper  on 
her  typewriter  and  asked  quietly: 

"Who  told  you  that?" 

"I  did  not  need  to  be  told.  He  is  very  much 
taken" — the  slight  rising  inflection  in  this  sentence 
roused  her  pique  just  a  little.  She  did  not  look  up. 

"I  couldn't  believe  he  was  English,"  she  observed, 
"he  is  so  different  from  the  others  I  have  met." 

"Ah  you  do  not  know  us  yet.  I  can  tell  you  where 
to  find  a  whole  group  of  Ashburnhams  ...  in 
the  picture  gallery  at  Hampton  Court.  There  they 
are,  the  fighters  of  Elizabeth's  day — lean  and  fierce 
and  swift  .  .  .  he  is  a  survival." 

He  paused,  drew  out  his  cigarette  case  and  lighted 
a  cigarette  with  deliberation.  Then  he  continued: 

"I've  known  him  ever  since  he  was  a  lad.  We  met 
in  China  where  he  came  to  my  rescue  once,  when  I 
ran  some  risk  of  being  mobbed.  Then  later 'on,  I 
was  able  to  help  him  in  some  work  he  was  doing  for 
the  Intelligence  Department.  He  is  a  true  Duguesclin 
— is  my  beau-sabreur.  Of  course  the  Ashburnhams 
never  had  any  money  and  that  stands  in  his  way. 

162 


ADVENTURE  163 

TKere  were  years  and  years  when  he  kept  after  some 
woman  whom  he  couldn't  possibly  marry.  I  rather 
fancy  he  thought  he  could  induce  her  to  take  the 
chance.  I  wonder  if  he  still  does?" 

The  telephone-bell  rang.  Miss  Lea,  as  she  lifted 
the  receiver,  was  saying  to  herself: — 

"He  never  does  anything  without  a  purpose.  Why 
did  he  tell  me  that?  I  wonder."  Out  of  the  struggle 
at  the  telephone  came  finally  the  voice  of  Hilda 
Fredericks. 

"That  you,  Miss  Lea?  .  .  .  you  see,  I  knew 
where  to  find  you  .  .  .  father  told  me  .  .  . 
won't  you  dine  with  us  on  Sunday?  .  .  .  Oh  do 
.  .  .  we'll  have  some  music — .  Hugo  has  a  new 
and  very  old  violin  .  .  .  yes,  one  needs  cheering  up 
.  .  .  these  dreadful  days.  .  .  .  This  set  in  the 
Government,  who  think  it  helps  things  on  to  lock  up 
a  lot  of  people — perfectly  harmless  most  of  them 
.  .  .  Oh  I  know,  but  anything  to  end  this  horrible 
War!" 

Sydney  hung  up  the  receiver  and  glanced  at  her 
companion,  who  had  every  air  of  savouring  the 
moment's  quiet  and  his  cigarette. 

"Mr.  Romeyne,  of  course  you  know  Sir  Jacob 
Fredericks?" 

She  had  bent  forward  towards  him,  her  brows 
drawn  together  and  her  eyes  both  intense  and  sombre. 

"I  do,  yes:  what  of  it?" 

"That  was  his  daughter.  They  have  been  very 
hospitable  to  me — very  kind.  They  have  asked  me 
there  a  number  of  times.  I  don't  want  to  seem  un- 
grateful— but — ?" 

"I  am  sure  you  could  not  be  that, —  but — ?" 

"Sir  Jacob  worries  me,"  she  spoke  frankly,  "and 
I  can't  make  up  my  mind  whether  to  bother  Sir 
Thomas  about  it  or  not.  .  .  .  It  is  not  only  that 
he  is  constantly  asking  me  questions.  ...  .  .  He  was 


1 64      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

in  here  a  few  days  ago — the  same  day  that  Colonel 
Ashburnham  came — and — it  was  very  difficult  and 
most  disagreeable.  He  has  a  friend — a  German,  on 
Sir  Thomas's  list  for  internment  and  he  hinted  that 
if  I  could  somehow  manage — he  didn't  say  how,  to 
get  his  friend's  name  taken  off  that  list — there  would 
be  a  nice  'present'  for  me." 

Romeyne's  face  was  impassive,  only  it  seemed  to 
stiffen,  and  he  puffed  a  trifle  jerkily  at  his  cigarette. 
"What  did  you  reply  to  that  proposition?" 
"Why — I  did  not  know  what  to  say — I  was  com- 
pletely taken  aback.     I  must  have  stammered  and — 
seemed  very  confused."     The  blood  rose  in  her  face 
at  the  recollection. 

"You  have  not  mentioned  this  to  Sir  Thomas?" 
"Not  yet — I  wished  to  ask  your  advice  about  that." 
"Well?"     It  seemed  as  though  he  wanted  to  hear 
all  that  was  in  her  mind  before  in  any  way  commit- 
ting himself  to  an  opinion. 

"Well,  you  see,  Sir  Thomas  dislikes  melodrama 
intensely.  Over  and  over  again  I  have  heard  him 
speak  most  severely  of  people  who  go  off  at  half-cock 
and  get  up  an  excitement.  This  incident  may  really 
be  less  important  than  it  seemed  to  me  at  the  time. 
If  he  thinks  me  the  sort  of  person  to  take  what  he 
would  call  a  'yellow-journal'  point  of  view,  I  think 
he  would  not  trust  my  judgment  in  future." 

Romeyne  did  not  answer,  at  once;  then  he  spoke 
slowly. 

"I  am  inclined  to  agree — to  think  you  are  right. 
My  advice  would  be  to  say  nothing  for  the  present. 
I  reason  this  way  ...  I  reason  this  way.  As  you 
say — it  may  mean  little — it  may  have  been  only. a 
slip  on  Fredericks'  part;  one  which  he  perhaps  already 
regrets  and  will  not  repeat.  You  know  how  people 
are — not  all  are  as  fastidious  as  you  and  I.  His  mind 
is  not  remarkably  well  balanced.  If  this  is  so — if  it 


ADVENTURE  165 

is  only  talk — then  there  will  be  nothing  gained  by 
noticing  it.  If  not — if  there  is  purpose, — then  there 
are  bound  to  be  other  incidents  and  you  will  have  a 
stronger  case  to  lay  before  Sir  Thomas." 

She  nodded  to  show  her  agreement  in  his  view. 

"But  remember,  you  must  let  me  know  at  once,  if 
anything  does  happen?" 

"Indeed,  you  may  trust  me." 

"By  the  way,"  Romeyne  went  on  after  a  pause,  "I 
wondered  if  you  had  heard — that  the  War  Depart- 
ment is  not  likely  to  do  anything  with  that  invention 
of  your  friend  Liston." 

Sydney  looked  up  with  a  shock. 

"You  can't  mean  it — ?  Then  the  tests  were  a 
failure?" 

"On  the  contrary,  I  believe  the  tests  were  a  suc- 
cess." 

"But  I  don't  understand  I" 

Romeyne  shrugged  very  lightly.  "The  man  is 
persona  non  grata,  I  am  told.  Years  ago,  he  came 
into  conflict  with  the  W.  O.  and  he  showed  those 
chaps  up  before  certain  people  as  so  hopelessly  inef- 
ficient that  he  made  real  trouble  for  them.  They  are 
never  likely  to  forget  it." 

"But  General  Menzies — has  he  no  power?  In 
the  case  of  a  matter  so  vital." 

"Menzies  has  a  great  deal  of  power."  Romeyne 
was  speaking  in  his  level  voice,  which  always  to 
Sydney's  mind  had  a  capacity  to  convey  shades  of 
ironical  meaning  which  was  delicately  indescribable. 
"Menzies  has  they  tell  me — pressed  the  matter 
rather  far.  But  Menzies  is  very  anxious  for  a  front 
command." 

"Which  he  is  not  likely  to  obtain  if — ?" 

"Which  he  is  not  in  the  least  likely  to  obtain  if 
he  uses  his  influence  on  behalf  of  Liston  instead  of 
himself." 


1 66      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

"And  they  have  kept  the  man  dangling  all  winter, 
never  meaning — I"  Sydney  choked  with  indignation. 

"You  see  they  go  on  the  theory — they  go  on  the 
theory  that  if  they  put  one  off  without  a  decision 
long  enough,  in  all  likelihood  they  will  not  have  to 
make  any  decision  at  all.  That  is  just  what  has 
happened  in  this  case.  I  heard  the  matter  discussed 
at  dinner  last  evening,  and  I  recalled  your  interest 
in  it." 

"My  interest  in  it,"  she  hastened  to  tell  him  rather 
coldly,  "was  because  I  thought  the  invention  might 
help  us  to  win!" 

"Very  possibly  it  might." 

Romeyne  rose :  threw  away  his  cigarette,  and  spoke 
in  another  voice.  How  slight  were  always  the 
changes  in  his  tone  and  how  significant  he  managed 
to  make  them ! 

"That  fiery  look  in  your  eyes  makes  me  ashamed. 
I  know  what  you  must  be  thinking  of 
the  mandarins,  and  no  doubt  you  are  right — no  doubt 
you  are  right  I  But  Red  Tabs  is  a  broken  reed  for 
any  cause,  he  has  intelligence,  but  he  is  impetuous, 
he  hates  detail ;  and  'he  wants  a  great  deal  for  him- 
self. He  will  get  a  front  command." 

"And  Ernest  Liston?" 

"Ernest  Liston  must  wait — or  sell  his  brains  to 
your  fellow  countrymen." 

While  they  had  been  talking  the  soft  summer  dusk 
had  closed  down  upon  them.  Romeyne  wandered 
over  to  the  window  and  stood  there  looking  out. 
A  delicate  mist  floated  along  the  darkening  streets. 
Suddenly,  the  arch  of  sky  above  their  Tieads  was 
crossed  and  recrossed  and  glorified  by  amethyst  and 
aquamarine  bands  of  light.  They  sought  the  zenith 
and  rested  there,  in  an  ecstasy. 

"What  a  sight  1"  he  murmured,  "how  full  of 
beauty!" 


ADVENTURE  167 

"And  danger,"  she  added. 

"And  danger,"  his  voice  had  become  uncertain 
and  his  gaze  turned  from  the  searchlights  to  rest 
upon  her  face.  There  was  silence.  Then  Romeyne 
moved  quickly  away  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  electric 
button.  Fantasy  and  emotion  vanished  out  of  the 
room  as  it  sprang  into  full  light. 

"You  have  done  very  well,  very  well  indeed,  about 
Sir  Jacob.  I  hope  we  shall  not  have  to  speak  to  Sir 
Thomas.  There  he  comes.  Ah  Easterly,  you  are 
late.  I  have  been  waiting  some  time." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

MEANWHILE,  Sydney's  perplexities  had  not  been 
lessened  by  the  attitude  of  Miss  Violand  in  regard 
to  her  nephew.  Poor  Eric  had  been  forgiven — who 
could  do  otherwise?  But  the  appearance,  on  Syd- 
ney's horizon,  of  Colonel  Ashburnham  was  the 
means  of  rousing  in  him  another  jealousy  much 
more  serious  and  depressing.  Here  was  a  rival  whom 
no  one  knew  better  than  Eric  there  was  every  pos^ 
sible  reason  to  dread.  That  is,  if  he  were  a  rival 
indeed.  But  was  he?  To  Sydney's  mind  Ashburn- 
ham's  interest  in  her  society  never  overpassed  the 
bounds  of  that  camaraderie  which  she  had  known 
between  boys  and  girls  in  her  own  home.  He  was 
not  conventional;  he  brushed  easily  aside  the  var- 
ious questions  of  expediency  which,  to  an  Englishman, 
are  involved  in  paying  attention  to  a  woman.  Like 
Sydney  herself,  he  kept  his  mind  on  essentials.  He 
wished  to  see  her,  so  'he  saw  her.  He  came  to  the 
house  and  set  Giddy  into  a  twitter  of  excitement 
with  his  name  and  his  War  ribbons.  Giddy  was  an 
ardent  reader  of  the  Daily  Pictorial  and  she  knew 
the  names  of  all  the  heroes  of  all  the  investitures 
by  heart.  He  held  Miss  Violand  spellbound  with 
his  talk  and  his  gayety  and  he  never  even  noticed 
that  her  nephew  sulked  in  the  background.  Eric 
hated  him  fiercely — not  only  because  Sydney  liked 
him,  but  because  of  what  Eric  called  "the  damned 
patronizing  air,  of  the  professional  soldier  to- 
ward the  new  army.  This  air  as  a  matter  of  fact,  in 
Ashburnham's  case,  did  not  exist;  but  Eric  called 
him  a  "bow  and  arrow  soldier,"  and  sneered  at  him 

168 


ADVENTURE  169 

and  vowed  that  he  and  his  like  would  lose  the  War 
if  they  could. 

Ashburnham  never  even  seemed  to  see  young  Vio- 
land.  He  continued  to  take  Miss  Lea  for  Saturday 
and  Sunday  walks  and  out  to  dine  and  to  the  play.  So 
full  was  he  of  vitality  mental  and  physical,  that  her 
own  eagerness  and  vitality  responded.  He  poured 
out  a  breathless  stream  of  ideas,  hopes  and  plans; 
and  if  she  did  not  understand  them,  he  promptly 
set  to  work  to  teach  her.  He  had  books,  languages, 
studies  to  suggest  enough  to  make  her  head  swim  and 
he  seemed  to  take  the  capacity  for  granted.  Life 
wore  to  him  the  aspect  or  perpetual  adventure  and 
though  he  had  a  peremptory,  hot  temper,  at  least 
one  rarely  saw  him  out  of  humour.  Yet  with  all  this, 
the  girl  realized  that  there  were  reserves  of  strength 
under  the  glitter  and  she  never  asked  him  for  counsel 
without  receiving  a  store  of  wisdom,  having  its  foun- 
dation in  courage.  Ashburnham  was  under  no  illu- 
sion as  to  success,  he  enjoyed  it,  but  never  depended 
upon  it  for  his  inward  satisfactions.  One  of  the 
things  Sydney  best  liked  in  him  was  that  he  took 
her  work  for  granted  as  utterly  as  he  took  her  ability. 
All  work  was  '"perfectly  splendid,"  and  it  was  only 
the  dull  who  thought  otherwise. 

"You  know  that  dear  Miss  Violand  and  her 
nephew,"  she  confided  to  him,  "always  treat  me 
as  if  I  were  a  trick-dog." 

"Forever  walking  on  your  hind  legs?  By  Jove! 
I  know.  My  people  were  like  that:  but  the  race  is 
dying  out.  That  boy  should  know  better." 

Sydney  felt  guilty  about  the  boy,  but  she  was  not 
prepared  for  his  next  sentence: 

"Perhaps  that  is  because  he  is  in  love  with  you, 
and  that  is  hard  on  him.  If  you  don't  mean  to  take 
him — and  I  gather  you  don't — you  ought  to  put  a 
stop  to  it." 


170      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

"What  makes  you  think — ?"  she  paused  em- 
barrassed. He  raised  his  mobile  brows  and  smiled 
unconcernedly  down  on  her.  "Well,  of  course  it's 
true;  one  can  never  tell,  but  somehow  I  don't  think 
you'd  court  a  deliberate  disaster.  You  and  young 
Violand  don't  seem  to  run  on  the  same  track."  Then 
he  added  with  some  gravity:  "But  indeed,  you  must 
take  it  in  hand.  It's  bad  for  you,  because  it  feeds 
your  vanity, — and  its  very  bad  for  him.  Nothing 
does  a  chap  so  much  harm  as  to  dangle  on  after  a 
woman,  with  the  hope  that  some  day  she  may  change 
her  mind.  Particularly  because  sometimes  she  does. 
And  then !"  he  made  a  gesture,  "what  sort  of  mar- 
riage would  that  be?" 

Sydney  did  not  answer  and  he  continued:  "You 
see,  I  know — because  for  years,  I  did  it." 

"You  mean  you  married  like  that?" 

"No:  Fate  spared  me  that — or  rather,  poverty 
saved  me.  It  was  someone  I  met  in  India.  We  were 
quasi  engaged1  you  see,  for  six  years  after  I  was 
twenty-two.  I  had  nothing  but  my  pay.  She 
wouldn't  risk  it  and  take  me;  but  she  wouldn't  let 
me  go  either,  and  it  was  in  every  kind  of  way  bad  for 
me.  It  kept  me  restless  and  excited  and  unhappy; 
until  I  finally  broke  loose." 

"And  since?" 

"Oh  since,  I  have  had  my  work  and  I've  been 
happy,  of  course.  There  is  always  something  glorious 
to  do  in  my  job,  you  know." 

His  companion  wondered  if  everyone  would  have 
thought  so. 

"Tell  me  some  of  the  more  glorious." 

To  speak  of  the  waste  spaces  of  the  world,  he 
never  needed  urging.  As  he  talked,  ejaculating,  gesti- 
culating, enacting  the  scene,  he  called  up  pictures  of 
wide  horizons  and  great  heights  and  vast  forests. 
The  tiny  caravan  of  men  that  wound  over  some 


ADVENTURE  171 

snowy  pass,  or  crawled  through  some  steaming  jun- 
gle or  came  slowly  into  the  view  of  some  deserted 
city — in  Ceylon  perhaps,  or  Burma,  had  always  to 
her  vision  that  lean,  quick  figure  at  the  head.  Lon- 
don, England,  the  Island — seemed  very  small  and 
unimportant  somehow,  by  contrast.  They  were  the 
Office — but  not  the  Works.  What  mattered  was  the 
Empire — the  wild  wide  spaces  of  earth  opened,  and 
the  savage  peoples  tamed,  and  order  established — . 
What  mattered  now  in  this  W'ar  was  the  Empire 
and  the  men  who  made  it — the  men  who  had  been 
the  self-constituted  bearers  of  the  greatest  civilizing 
influence  that  the  world  has  ever  known. 

"And  you  will  be  going  back,  I  suppose?" 

"Oh  yes,  I  shall  be  going  back — not  to  uninhabited 
countries — but  rather  it  will  be  to  some  country 
rapidly  growing  uninhabited — from  the  War." 

"It  will  be  soon,"  she  ventured. 

"I  rather  fancy  it  will  be  soon."  He  evidently 
had  no  wish  to  talk  about  it,  for  he  changed  the 
subject  gaily,  as  they  came  in  sight  of  home. 

"Don't  forget  we  are  going  to  the  play — next 
week,  mind!  By  Jove,  I  shan't  let  you  forget — 
I'll  get  the  tickets  tomorrow." 

He  wrung  her  hand  and  left  her,  swaggering  off 
down  the  street.  Sydney  looked  after  him  smiling 
and  musing.  Such  men  made  Easterly — and  yes! 
even  Romcyne,  seem  like  the  merest  office  clerks. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

MR.  ROMEYNE'S  private  secretary  was  an  old  man 
named  Parker,  who  had  been  a  clerk  in  his  father's 
office  and  was  devoted  to  his  master.  This  devotion, 
as  Romeyne  often  said,  was  absolutely  his  only  quali- 
fication for  the  post.  Mr.  Parker  professed  a  com- 
plete ignorance  of  shorthand,  bookkeeping,  typing, 
filing,  languages  and  geography — and  if  indeed  there 
was  anything  else  which  he  ought,  as  a  private  secre- 
tary, to  have  known,  one  may  be  quite  sure  he  did 
not.  His  lack  of  business  and  technical  knowledge 
was  in  truth  so  profound  that  he  was  almost  fitted 
according  to  prevailing  standards,  to  be  an  Ambas- 
sador. Mr.  Parker  could  write  an  exceedingly  well- 
expressed  note  with  jet  black  ink,  in  a  very  gentle- 
manlike hand,  on  thick,  cream  colored  Foreign  Office 
note  paper,  and  he  was  an  adept  at  sealing  the  huge 
envelope  with  a  discreet  dab  of  sealing  wax.  His 
personality  was  marked  by  a  dignified  precision,_but 
at  the  same  time  he  possessed  the  knack  of  disap- 
pearing into  the  background  whenever  .necessary. 
One  was  very  apt  to  forget  about  Parker — and  in 
this  manner  he  was  by  way  of  learning  a  number  of 
things  which  were  extremely  useful  to  his  employer. 
There  were  two  young  persons  under  Parker,  one  of 
whom  was  a  shorthand  typist;  but  he  let  no  one 
touch  Romeyne's  desk  but  himself,  and  that  desk 
had  never  been  seen  to  have  an  accumulation  of 
papers  on  it.  In  fact,  any  superficial  observer  who 
came  into  Romeyne's  office  would  have  set  him  down 
as  the  idlest  man  in  London,  for  he  seemed  to  spend 
most  of  his  time  in  looking  out  of  the  window. 

172 


ADVENTURE  173 

It  was  a  hot  summer  afternoon  in  which  the  languid 
air  barely  stirred  and  the  sky  lifted  and  broke  into 
a  foam  of  little  clouds.  Romeyne  at  the  window, 
looked  tired  and  pale.  He  had  just  been  having 
one  of  those  sharp  reminders  that  he  was  married  to 
a  fool,  which  perpetually  brought  him  up  at  a  round 
turn  whenever  the  future  seemed  definitely  to  smile 
on  his  ambitions.  His  wife  had  spent  some  time  in 
visits  to  a  fashionable  clairvoyant,  who  had  been 
shortly  afterwards  apprehended  for  some  minor  in- 
fringement of  the  Defence  of  the  Realm  Act.  Mrs. 
Romeyne  had  evidently  chattered:  "What  about, 
God  knows"  said  her  husband  wearily,  to  himself, 
"for  she  knows  nothing!"  However,  she  had  chat- 
tered to  such  purpose  with  the  crystal  gazer,  that 
the  frightened  Witch  of  Endor  had  appealed  to 
her,  rather  frantically,  over  the  telephone,  in  terms 
under  which  there  lay  the  shadow  of  a  threat.  Mrs. 
Romeyne  had  sought  her  husband  in  a  panic,  and  he, 
well  aware  that  every  man  these  days  must  be  in 
the  position  of  Caesar's  wife,  had  to  pull  a  great 
many  newspaper  wires  which  he  would  far  rather 
have  let  alone.  The  whole  incident  had  been  dis- 
tasteful and  depressing,  and  every  fastidious  nerve 
in  the  man  revolted,  as  he  stood  looking  gloomily 
out  upon  the  new  buildings  which  were  going  up 
opposite  Storey's  Gate.  Parker  entered  noiselessly. 

"The  lady,  sir,"  he  said,  "whom  we  understand 
is  acting  as  secretary  at  present  to  Sir  Thomas  East- 
erly, desires  to  see  you  for  a  moment,  if  you  are 
disengaged." 

"Oh  ?  Eh —  yes —  very  good,"  said  Romeyne. 

"Show  Miss  Lea  in  here."  To  himself  he  added: 
"Fresh  troubles,  I  suppose!" 

Sydney  made  her  entry,  not  without  nervousness. 
Mr.  Romeyne  set  a  chair  for  her  and  seated  himself 
in  another,  with  that  complete  immobility  and  ab- 


174      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

sence  of  restlessness  which  one  always  noticed  about 
him.  His  mind  seemed  to  move  more  swiftly  and 
surely  when  his  body  remained  still. 

"I  should  not  have  troubled  you,"  the  girl  began, 
"only  you  told  me  to  be  sure  and  let  you  know  at 
once  if — " 

"You  mean,  Sir  Jacob?" 

She  nodded. 

"Tell  me,  please  1" 

"It  was  only  this  morning.  You  know  Sir  Thomas 
has  only  been  at  Charles  Street  for  a  few  hours 
each  day.  He  has  been  very  busy  with  Committees, 
and  the  House — and  his  son  in  the  country.  He 
made  an  appointment  with  Sir  Jacob  yesterday,  for 
half-past  eleven  today.  He  certainly  told  me  eleven- 
thirty  and  so  I  have  it  written  on  the  tablet;  bur 
Sir  Jacob  appeared  nearly  half-an-hour  earlier  and 
seemed  rather  put  out.  Well — he  asked  if  he  might 
wait  in  the  library  and  of  course  I  could  not  refuse. 
Also,  I  was  glad  because  I  was  afraid  that  if  he 
stayed  in  the  outer  room  he  might  say  something 
more  about — " 

"I  understand.    And  then?" 

"You  know  that  inner  door  leading  from  the 
library  into  the  dining-room?  I  had  occasion  to  go 
in  there  and  that  door  was  not  quite  closed.  I 
could  see  plainly.  He  was  standing  at  the  desk 
reading  Sir  Thomas's  papers.  It  is  true  I  caught 
only  a  glimpse  but  I  oannot  be  mistaken.  That  is 
what  he  was  doing." 

"What  papers  were  on  the  desk?"  his  voice,  low 
as  it  was,  leapt  at  her,  but  her  answer  was  quick: 

"Nothing  whatever  of  importance.  I  have  always 
made  a  practice  of  putting  everything  into  the  safe 
whenever  Sir  Thomas  is  out  of  the  room." 

"You  are  sure  about  that?" 

"I  am  absolutely  sure.     As  a  matter  of  fact,  Sir 


ADVENTURE  175 

Thomas  returned  a  few  moments  later,  and  imme- 
diately rang  for  me  to  get  out  a  letter  which  he 
wished  to  read  to  Sir  Jacob.  I  looked  then  and 
everything  was  in  order." 

"Is  it  just  an  ordinary  despatch  box  that  one 
could  lift  without  your  hearing?" 

"No:  it  is  a  regular  fire-proof  office  safe  with  a 
combination  lock.  Sir  Thomas  bought  it  after  I  had 
pointed  out  to  him  the  disadvantage  of  the  usual 
despatch  box,  which  might  be  secretly  removed  and 
returned.  .  .  .  After  both  of  them  had  gone 
out,  I  went  over  everything  on  the  desk  most  care- 
fully. There  was  nothing  whatever  .  .  .  esti- 
mates for  mending  the  hothouse  at  Easterly  Park, 
correspondence  about  a  dog;  Red  Cross  Appeals; 
Lady  Tyrwhitt's  matinee,  and  so  on." 

She  fancied  that  he  drew  a  breath  of  relief,  but 
his  face  and  voice  never  changed. 

"Of  course,  taken  with  the  other  incident — I  feel 
that  Sir  Thomas  should  know,  but  I  hoped  that 
you—" 

"Quite  so.  We  shall  tell  him  together.  What  time 
does  he  come  tomorrow?" 

His  manner  was  very  gentle,  if  a  little  abstract 
and  he  shook  hands  with  her  at  parting  as  with  a 
friend.  Sydney,  running  up  the  Duke  of  York's 
steps  with  a  lighter  heart,  felt  remorseful  that  only 
a  few  days  ago  she  had  called  him  an  office  clerk. 
After  all,  what  would  the  Empire  be  without  the 
Office? 

Next  day,  she  told  what  she  had  seen  Sir  Jacob 
do  and  what  he  had  said  in  her  hearing,  to  her  em- 
ployer, with  Romeyne  sitting  by,  smoking  and'  in- 
wardly admiring  the  way  she  did  it.  This  admiration 
he  did  not  however  exhibit,  any  more  than  Sir 
Thomas  exhibited  his  very  real  dismay  and  alarm. 
The  interview  lay  throughout  within  the  strict  limits 


THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

of  their  business  relations ;  and  Sydney  was  thanked, 
her  discretion  commended  and  she  was  dismissed 
to  her  typewriter,  without  a  ray  of  change  having 
shown  itself  on  the  faces  of  the  two  men.  A  very 
long  interview  in  the  library  immediately  followed 
and  the  secretary  noticed  that  Sir  Thomas  cancelled 
one  or  two  appointments  for  that  afternoon.  She 
waited  with  a  beating  heart  for  him  to  come  out  of 
the  study,  but  when  he  did  it  was  only  to  accompany 
his  friend  to  the  waiting  taxi.  If  he  said  anything 
stronger  than  "Can  it  be  possible?"  it  was  not  in  her 
hearing. 

As  to  Sir  Jacob  Fredericks  he  seemed,  as  it  were, 
to  disappear  from  the  horizon  of  Charles  Street, 
and  his  daughter  Hilda  ceased  to  invite  Miss  Lea 
to  dine  or  to  call  her  up  on  the  telephone.  From 
that  day,  a  vague  portentous  opposition  raised  itself 
to  block  every  move  of  Sir  Jacob's  existence,  and 
to  affect  every  plan  made  by  himself  or  his  family. 
Nothing  definite  was  said;  but  people  shook  their 
heads  when  his  name  was  mentioned,  and  "John 
Bull"  fulminated  an  article  about  "Huns  in  Our 
Midst"  which  pointed  unmistakeably  in  one  direc- 
tion. It  became  convenient  for  the  Fredericks'  to 
remain  all  the  year  at  their  place  in  the  country,  and 
although  no  actual  charge  was  formulated  against 
them,  yet  disloyalty  was  more  than  hinted,  and  it 
was  openly  said  that  they  were  "under  observation." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

WHEN  the  time  came  for  leaving  his  aunt's  house 
and  receiving  his  final  answer,  Eric  Violand  be- 
haved very  well  and  Sydney's  heart  was  lightened. 
She  had  been  troubled  concerning  Miss  Violand's 
feelings  in  the  matter — even  to  the  point  of  hinting 
that  perhaps  she  had  better  seek  another  lodging. 
Miss  Violand's  gentle  expression  at  this  had  looked 
truly  grieved — so  that  the  sentence  had  ended  in  an 
embrace.  When  Giddy  entered  her  room  next  morn- 
ing with  a  hot  water  can,  she  took  occasion  to  re- 
mark: 

"We  'opes — Miss  Helen  'opes,  Miss,  that  you 
won't  think  of  moving,  as  we're  very  lonely  now  that 
Mr.  Eric  'ave  gone — pore  young  gentleman." 

The  vanishing  from  her  horizon  of  the  Fredericks 
acquaintance  had  given  her  a  little  more  time  for 
other  people.  She  went  occasionally  to  the  Pem- 
ber  Chynes  and  was  often  rewarded  by  an  hour  in 
which  the  dark  curtain  of  the  present  seemed  to  be 
lifted,  revealing  the  shining  mise-en-scene  of  the 
more  peaceful  past. 

A  talk  with  Rhoda  Pember  Chyne  was  often  like 
looking  through  a  volume  of  du  Maurier's  drawings. 
Unquestionably,  Sydney  drew  from  this  source  a 
knowledge  of  the  social  and  literary  backgrounds 
by  which  the  Twentieth  Century  was  related  to  the 
Nineteenth;  she  came  to  have  deepening  compre- 
hension of  the  influences  which  had  surrounded  the 
formative  period  of  such  people  as  the  Easterlys 
and  General  Menzies,  Lord  and  Lady  Wclden,  Miss 
Violand,  Romeyne  himself,  or  even  Harry  Ash- 

177 


178      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

burnham.  She  saw  this  England  of  the  80's  and  the 
90's — suddenly  faced  with  catastrophe  and  strug- 
gling with  a  new  danger  and  a  new  order.  She 
came  to  realize  that  what  attracted  her  in  these  older 
people  was  just  that  background — and  that  she  could 
never  find  the  same  interest  in  the  present  generation 
which  lacked  it.  Eric  Violand,  the  Cairds  and  those 
tall  young  girls  she  met  at  Edith  Caird's  tea-table, 
had  by  no  means  the  same  individual  charm. 

She  hinted  some  of  these  thoughts  to  her  friend 
Ashburnham  the  evening  they  went  to  the  theatre 
together,  and  found  him  curiously  responsive. 

"I  read  in  a  French  book  while  I  was  in  the  hospi- 
tal," said  he,  "that  the  world  is  paying  for  an  excess 
of  individualism,  so  that  now  we  are  roused  by  danger 
to  just  this  one  overwhelming  collective  feeling.  We 
are  the  herd  stampeded  by  the  invasion  of  another 
herd.  It  must  have  been  so  in  the  Middle  Ages — 
when  the  Huns  first  came  out  of  their  forest.  Do 
you  remember  a  little  sketch  by  Anatole  France,  in 
which  some  Italian  shepherd  in  the  hills,  sees  first 
that  long  line  of  barbarians  wandering  through  the 
valleys — .  By  Jove — it  is  wonderful!" 

Sydney  promised  to  read  it:  but  added  with  a  half- 
sigh,  that  books,  except  in  the  line  of  her  work,  had 
lost  interest. 

"You  must  not  let  that  happen,"  was  his  posi- 
tive answer.  "It  never  does  to  slacken  up  brainwork 
during  a  time  like  this.  I  shall  send  you  some — and 
quiz  you  on  them,  too,  by  Jove." 

"I  don't  know  which  is  worse,"  said  the  girl,  "in- 
difference to  books  or  indifference  to  suffering.  At 
first  I  could  hardly  bear  it — but  I  seem  to  be  grow- 
ing callous.  Perhaps  that's  Nature's  respite,  I  hope 
so.  At  the  moment,  the  main  thing  seems  to  be  to 
keep  steady,  unaffected  by  all  this  horror,  at  what- 
ever cost."  Ashburnham  understood. 


ADVENTURE  ,79 

"Yes,  the  War  will  blunt  one's  feeling — if  one 
lets  it,"  he  observed;  "that  is  the  chief  danger.  It 
dwarfs  the  human  atom  till  he  forgets  that  he  is 
after  all  charged  with  force,  and  that  but  for  that 
the  whole  enormous  thing  couldn't  have  happened." 

Sydney  considered.  "Sir  Thomas  was  raging  yes- 
terday against  Mr.  Anstyce  for  saying  to  him  that 
we  would  have  to  live  with  the  Germans  after  the 
War — and  Mr.  Romeyne  answered,  so  tranquilly: 
'My  de-ah  Easterly — it  is  for  you  and  your  Com- 
mittee to  see  that  he  does  I  .  .  .  Then  he  went 
on  to  discourse  about  all  these  people  in  the  Govern- 
ment—  and  what  each  man  stood  for  and  how 
hollow  he  rang — and  he  ended  up  by  saying  'Para- 
doxical as  it  may  seem — all  these  negatives  make  a 
positive  force — and  it  will  disrupt  the  Empire,  if 
we  give  it  time.'  So  he  agrees  with  you." 

"I  doubt  it — he's  a  wonderful  chap,  Romeyne — 
but  much  too  cynical  in  his  outlook,  in  my  opinion." 

The  curtain  rose  on  his  last  words  and  Sydney  was 
prevented  from  disagreeing  with  this  verdict.  She 
meant  to  continue  the  topic  during  their  walk  home 
but  was  oddly  prevented.  No  sooner  had  they 
emerged  on  Shaftesbury  Avenue  and  turned  their 
steps  toward  Piccadilly  Circus,  than  it  became  evi- 
dent that  some  excitement  moved  the  crowds  of 
whom  they  formed  part.  Everyone  was  staring; 
groups  standing  about  with  their  faces  upturned  to 
the  sky. 

"What's  the  matter,  officer?"  Ashburnham  asked, 
and  the  man  touched  his  cap. 

"The  Zeppelins  are  out  tonight,  sir,"  he  replied. 
"You  had  better  get  under  cover  ...  ah,  there 
it  is  agajn!" 

A  slight  distinct  sound  like  the  popping  of  a 
cork  was  followed  by  a  dim,  roaring  crash.  It  gal- 
vanized the  crowd  into  terrified  movement  and  a 


180      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

woman  screamed  .  .  .  Ashburnham  made  no 
comment.  Through  the  masses  of  people  who  still 
for  the  most  part  stood  about  gaping — as  if  fas- 
cinated— he  swung  his  companion  forward,  dex- 
trously  making  use  of  every  eddy  in  the  crowd. 
Those  nearest,  seeing  the  tall  officer,  instinctively 
gave  way  before  him  and  in  a  few  moments  he  had 
piloted  her  into  the  shelter  of  a  near-by  vestibule — 
the  entrance,  so  it  appeared,  of  the  Imperial  Res- 
taurant. They  paused,  and  then  glancing  at  his  com- 
panion,  he  pointed  upward  to  the  sword  of  light 
which  swung  across  and  across,  piercing  the  heavens. 
A  babble  of  voices  sounded  in  the  street.  The  sword 
of  light  steadied  and  there,  suddenly,  floating  in  it, 
far  down  on  the  horizon,  Sydney  beheld  something 
which  looked  like  a  tiny  silver  fish.  ...  It 
was  motionless.  .  .  .  Was  that  another  crash? 

"It  seems  to  me  they  ought  to  bag  that  fellow," 
she  heard  Ashburnham  saying;  and  then  came  an- 
other voice. 

"So  it's  you,  my  dear  chap,  is  it?" 

Romeyne,  standing  beside  them  on  the  curb  was 
looking  up  also.  He  was  in  evening  dress  and  he 
carried  his  coat  over  his  arm.  She  thought,  in  these 
queer  lights  his  face  looked  drawn.  The  eyes  rested 
on  hers  with  a  strange  steadiness.  .  .  .  She  was 
not  sure  if  she  were  glad  or  sorry  that  he  was  there. 
.  She  stood,  watching  the  Zeppelin,  in  sil- 
ence. .  .  .  She  was  not  afraid,  but  it  was  nat- 
ural that  one's  heart  should  beat — beat  a  little  faster. 

There  were  not  many  people  inside  the  Imperial 
Restaurant.  A  word  from  Romeyne  and  they  were 
seated  at  table  "because  it's  obviously  the  best  thing 
to  do,"  as  he  said.  Waiters  hurried  about;  every- 
one looked  a  little  nervous  and  alert,  Sydney  thought, 
except  her  two  companions.  The  lights  in  the  room 
seemed  very  big  and  bright.  None  of  the  restless- 


ADVENTURE  181 

ness  of  the  streets  penetrated  to  where  they  sat.  One 
could  not  be  sure  even,  that  one  heard  another  crash. 
She  tried  not  to  think  what  that  noise  really  meant — 
the  deliberate  dealing  of  death,  the  purpose  behind  it. 

.  .  .  A  wave  of  fury  passed  over  her  and  the 
quiet  room  seemed  to  vibrate  with  her  emotion. 
How  fantastic,  how  bizarre  it  seemed! 

She  became  aware  that  her  host  was  looking  at  her 
with  a  touch  of  concern ;  and  she  answered  the  look. 
"No:  I  am  not; afraid — but  I  am  so  angry !  .  .  . 
Are  they  human  beings — as  we  are?" 

"Devils  gone  mad,"  cried  one  man.  "Products  of 
science  without  character"  added  the  other,  yery 
quietly,  "but  Ashburnham,  you  were  saying? — " 

"I  was  saying  that  Miss  Lea  and  I  had  been  talk- 
ing about  the  causes  of  the  War  earlier  this  evening, 
and  I  wondered  what  your  idea  was?" 

Romeyne  smiled  his  slow  smile.  "Among  the 
causes  I've  heard  considered,"  he  said,  "I  remember 
an  excess  of  individualism  and  an  excess  of  the  other 
thing;  a  scientific  reaction  and  an  emotional  reaction; 
an  economic  collapse  or  an  economic  rivalry;  the 
intrigues  of  politicians  and  the  will  of  the  people. 
Do  you  want  any  more?  Because  Miss  Lea  is  trying 
so  hard  to  choose  between  these  explanations  that  she 
is  forgetting  to  eat." 

Sydney  recalled  herself  with  a  start.  "It  wasn't 
because  I  was  trying  to  choose,"  she  protested;  "it 
was  rather  that  I  believed  in  all  of  them  but  was  try- 
ing to  decide  as  to  the  proportion  of  each." 

He  made  a  gesture.  "Do  not  try — for  who  are 
we  to  decide?  As  Ashburnham  says  we  are  only  hu- 
man atoms  in  the  grip  of  this  tremendous  current  of 
crowd  feeling.  That  is  the  real  cause  of  the  War; 
that  we  are  human  atoms  and  that  there  is  this  herd 
emotion.  .  .  .  Generated  in  one  great  impulse, 


1 82      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

it  sweeps  over  the  world  and  we  are  not  ourselves 
until  it  is  passed." 

"But  if  that  is  true,"  the  girl  asked,  "what  is  to 
prevent  it  from  starting  again?  What  is  to  make  this 
the  last  War  ?  or  to  keep  us  from  having  other  Wars 
in  future?" 

Romeyne  was  amused. 

"Whoever  suggested  that  there  would  be  no  other 
Wars  in  future?"  he  said,  looking  at  her. 

"I  told  you,  Miss  Lea,"  said  the  soldier,  "that  he 
was  perfectly  cynical." 

"It  seems  to  me"  said  Sydney,  absorbed,  "that  I 
should  make  it  the  duty  of  the  future  to  see  there 
could  not  be !  If  I  were  a  statesman,  I  should  mould 
my  policy  to  that  end  and  if  I  were  a  writer,  I  should 
make  that  my  one  theme.  Our  ideas  about  these 
things  do  change  and  improve  our  convictions!"  She 
glowed  with  an  enthusiasm  very  rare  in  her  which  lent 
her  face  an  intensity  admired  by  both  her  companions. 

"You  are  an  idealist,"  said  Romeyne  gently,  "like 
all  Americans." 

"I  am  beginning  to  believe  that  Colonel  Ashburn- 
ham  is  right  and  that  you  are  a  cynic !" 

"I  am  in  the  employ  at  present  of  His  Majesty's 
Government,"  he  tranquilly  asserted. 

They  were  both  speaking  with  a  certain  directness 
having  a  background  of  earnestness,  which  denoted 
a  change  in  their  attitude.  Sydney  was  not  wont  to 
speak  to  Romeyne  as  an  equal  and  in  the  light  touch 
and  freedom  of  her  speech  there  was  no  trace  left  of 
the  secretarial  manner.  Harry  Ashburnham,  watch- 
ing her,  drew  his  expressive  brows  together,  half  per- 
plexed, half  admiring.  She  bent  her  dark  gaze 
straight  into  Romeyne' s,  and  held  him.  At  the  mo- 
ment he  did  not  seem  able  to  take  his  eyes  away. 

"They  say  that  it  is  Mr.  Romeyne  who  forms  the 
Government's  policy  on  most  subjects." 


ADVENTURE  183 

"Ah?  And  they  say  that  Sir  Thomas  is  much 
influenced  by  his  private  secretary  I" 

The  little  duel  ended  in  a  laugh  and  Sydney 
turned  her  smiling  eyes  away.  Ashburnham  broke  in 
— seeing  his  chance — uBy  Jove — then — I  wish  you'd 
form  it  to  some  sense  about  the  East  1"  and  Romeync 
took  up  the  challenge. 

The  two  men  were  soon  deep  in  talk  each  accord- 
ing to  his  manner;  the  statesman  wise  rather  than 
brilliant;  the  soldier  brilliant  rather  than  wise.  The 
girl,  as  she  listened,  seemed  to  be  carried  in  an  aero- 
plane over  wide  continents  to  far  horizons.  Romeyne 
knew  Europe  from  Land's  End  to  the  Golden  Horn 
and  Ashburnham  knew  Asia  from  Tokio  to  the  Urals. 
Personalities,  as  diverse  as  picturesque,  stood  out  on 
their  geographical  background.  Then  Ashburnham 
launched  into  vivid  narrative  about  the  Indian  troops 
and  their  strange  devotion  and  though  he  turned  his 
face  toward  his  host,  yet  he  drew  her  attention  by 
the  tail  of  his  eye.  .  .  .  The  lights  in  the  room 
were  still  big  and  bright,  but  they  swayed  no  longer. 
She  bent  toward  the  narrator  a  face 
whose  pallor  and  modelling  seemed  overnight  to  have 
achieved  beauty,  distinction. 

"She's  always  intense,"  thought  one  of  Sydney's 
two  companions;  "tonight  in  her  attentive  stillness, 
she  has  become  beautiful." 

A  waiter  came  up  to  their  table  .  .  .  Ro- 
meyne recalled  himself  from  the  talk  with  a  start 
.  .  .  it  was  closing  time. 

"The  trouble  seems  to  be  quite  over,  sir,"  the 
waiter  said  as  they  rose. 

The  streets  were  emptying  fast,  the  faint  starry 
sky  was  pure  and  untroubled,  as  they  came  out  of 
the  restaurant.  A  cool  little  wind  had  arisen. 

"I  hope,"  the  girl  said  anxiously  "that  Miss  Vio- 
land  has  not  been  worried." 


184      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

"You  will  reassure  her  in  a  few  moments"  said 
Romeyne,  as  he  bade  them  good  night.  "Fortunately 
for  myself  on  these  occasions,"  he  added,  on  an  im- 
pulse for  which  he  found  it  afterwards  hard  to 
account,  "there  is  no  one  to  be  worried  in  the  least 
about  me."  He  turned  quickly  toward  Piccadilly 
and  was  lost  to  view. 

"You  know  that's  very  odd — I  never  heard  him 
even  distantly  allude  to  that  before,"  remarked  the 
soldier  as  they  crossed  Regent  Street.  "He  and  his 
wife  for  years  have  been  practically  strangers." 

Sydney  murmured  something. 

"Of  course  it  is  his  own  fault,  but  still — " 

"I  don't  see  why  you  think  that,"  the  girl  spoke 
quickly,  indignantly.  "I  have  seen  her — she  is  per- 
fectly odious." 

"Quite  so — but  she  did  not  propose  to  him  you 
know.  Responsibility  always  must  be  the  man's. 
I  knew  her  at  one  time,  and  even  I — only  a  lad  then 
knew  she  was  the  wrong  woman.  She  had  money 
.  .  .  and  he  had  no  ideals.  ...  It  never 
does,  believe  me,"  the  soldier  continued,  "to  marry 
a  fool." 

He  began  to  speak  of  something  else  and  she  was 
glad,  because  the  picture  of  Romeyne's  empty  house 
— and  the  vacant  face  and  tasteless  appearance  of 
the  woman  she  had  seen — gave  her  a  feeling  of  dis- 
turbance. 

Romeyne,  meanwhile,  walked  rapidly  in  the  direc- 
tion of  his  house  in  Smith  Square.  He  was  very 
tired,  he  told  himself,  and  strung  up  after  a  hard 
day — or  he  would  never  have  said,,that. 
When  one  was  so  tired  ...  it  was  hard  to 
keep  from  feeling  lonely.  .  .  .  It  is  not  good 
for  man  to  be  alone  .  .  .  particularly  in  war- 
time. He  tried  to  change  his  thoughts  back  to  gen- 


ADVENTURE  185 

eral  matters,  but  the  personal  kept  intruding.  How 
beautiful  the  girl  was  tonight — the  jewelled  eye 
and  eloquent  lip,  the  whole  face,  vibrant,  bent  on  his 
own  I  ...  Odd,  he  had  not  noticed  it  before. 
.  She  must  have  improved.  Until  recently 
he  had  just  approved  of  her  as  very  clever,  and  tact- 
ful and  hard  working — now,  her  personality  had 
suddenly  sprung  into  vividness  in  his  mind,  so  that 
he  kept  seeing  her  face  and  movements  with  a  keen- 
ness that  was  like  pain.  Clearly,  it  was  because  he 
was  overdone — overworked;  he  must  go  away.  He 
dallied  with  this  idea  for  an  instant  only  to  thrust 
it  savagely  from  him,  he  knew  he  would  not  go  away. 
And  then  Ashburnham,  was  he  very  much  attracted? 
He,  Romeyne,  had  always  liked  and  admired  Ash- 
burnham— had  pushed  him  forward  whenever  pos- 
sible, but  now — was  it  because  of  nervous  fatigue  that 
he  had  become  conscious  of  resenting  Ashburnham? 
What  a  pity  if  that  talented  girl  should  become  inter- 
ested in  a  man  whose  life  was  so  uncertain  and  haz- 
ardous— subject  to  all  the  chance  of  war  and  his  own 
temperament.  And  he  had  no  money — it  would 
never  do!  The  life  she  should  have  he  knew  very 
well  and  how  she  would  become  it — he  could  imagine 
how  she  would  develop;  what  a  hostess  she  would 
make  with  her  gift  of  attention,  how  she  would 
throw  herself  into  a  man's  affairs,  and  above  all,  that 
rich  intensity — .  How  on  such  a  night  as  this,  per- 
haps, when  he  returned  late  and  there  had  been 
danger — she  would  be  waiting  there — on  the  stairs 
no  doubt,  with  glowing  eyes  and  parted  lips,  and  he 
racing  upstairs,  his  whole  thoughts  would  be  turned 
toward  what  awaited  them — that  heady  joy.  .  .  .^ 
Romeyne  put  the  key  in  the  door  as  he  reached  this 
point  and  the  silence  of  his  house  struck  the  vision 
away  as  with  a  blow — what  a  sickening  mess  life 


1 86      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

was !  And  how  unstrung  his  nerves  must  be.  After 
all,  why  should  the  affairs  of  Ashburnham  and  Syd- 
ney Lea  matter  to  him  ?  He  stood  for  an  instant  in 
the  hall  and  then  went  into  his  library  and  turned  on 
the  lamp. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

"Mv  dear,"  Edith  Caird  greeted  her  friend,  "I've 
asked  your  man!" 

"My  man?"  Sydney  repeated,  mystified. 

"Yes.  ...  I  mean  Colonel  Ashburnham. 
Roger  has  known  him  a  long  while,  but  I  met  him 
for  the  first  time  last  night.  We  had  a  little  party 
at  the  Cafe  Royal.  .  .  .  My  dear,  he's  a  won- 
derful man — quite  fascinating  and  evidently  awfully 
taken  with  youl" 

"Just  the  same,  I  don't  like  that  possessive  pro- 
noun I" 

"But  why,  my  child?  Isn't  he  your  man  of  the 
moment?  (I'm  so  glad  you  put  on  that  American 
frock  this  afternoon.  It's  so  becoming  .  .  . 
how  wonderfully  they  do  that  kind  of  thing  over 
there!)  One  has  to  have  a  man  of  the  moment  and 
you  never  talk  any  more  about  that  queer  little  crea- 
ture who  used  to  make  high  explosives.  You've 
given  him  up." 

"It's  the  other  way  about;  he's  given  me  up.  Ever 
since  Sir  Hector  Menzies  went  off  to  his  command  in 
France,  Ernest  Listen  has  avoided  me.  He  doesn't 
want  to  talk  about  being  thrown  over — and  he  knows 
I  had  my  doubts  from  the  first." 

"Doubts  of  his  horrid  old  T.N.T.?" 

"No,  Edith:  doubts  of  that — that  flamboyant 
General  1" 

"Menzies  is  very  highly  thought  of,  my  dtear. 
They  say  his  division  is  to  be  in  this  new  offensive, 
though  I  will  say  that  Roger  is  not  enthusiastic." 

"Well — I  am  not  surprised." 

is? 


1 88      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

The  drawing-room  at  Hans  Place  was  cool  and 
fresh.  Midsummer  sunshine  lay  on  the  grass  of  the 
square  without  and  gave  brilliancy  to  the  red  striped 
awnings  and  to  the  painted  garden  chairs.  Within, 
the  black  and  white  walls  were  refreshingly  neutral 
and  Edith  had  hidden  her  brilliant  winter  colourings 
under  the  summer  dress  of  pale  lavender  chintz. 

"Since  we  have  to  stay  in  town  so  late,"  she  de- 
clared, "we  will  look  as  summery  as  possible." 

"And  don't  you  miss  your  inventor?"  she  went  on, 
to  tease  a  little;  but  Sydney's  eyes  were  sombre. 

To  her  mind  the  Liston  case  had  an  aggravated 
injustice  in  that  the  only  black  mark  against  the  man 
was  that  he  had  been  proved  right!  .  .  .  And 
Menzies — that  splendid  figure,  that  tall,  smiling,  gor- 
geous embodiment  of  the  man  at  the  Top — how  he 
had  fulfilled  himself  in  her  eyes!  These  thoughts 
stayed  with  her  and  made  her  a  little  absent  and 
silent  all  during  Ashburnham's  visit — though  he  was 
more  interesting  than  ever.  She  kept  thinking  how 
he  too,  but  for  a  fortunate  chance,  might  have  beaten 
his  wings  against  the  bars  until  all  that  fine,  spirited 
vitality  had  become  broken  and  embittered — .  As 
for  him  while  he  jested  in  eager  conversation  with 
Edith  Caird,  his  quick  glance  travelled  now  and 
again  to  his  friend's  face,  and  noticed  the  cloud  upon 
it.  They  left  the  Caird's  house  together  and  stepped 
into  the  sunshine,  which  "summer  time"  had  deluded 
into  lingering  upon  Sloane  Street.  Ashburnham  sud- 
denly broke  forth: 

"It  is  an  awful  thing — this  Menzies  fiasco." 

"This  what?" 

Her  voice  and  face  were  surpremely  startled,  so 
that  he  made  a  sound  of  vexation. 

"I  thought  you  knew — there !  I  felt  you  seemed 
thoughful  this  afternoon  and  that  Sir  Thomas  had 
told  you.  ...  I  am  sorry  I" 


ADVENTURE  189 

"Sir  Thomas  has  been  out  of  town  for  three  days. 

.     .     I  have  heard  nothing.     What  is  it?" 

"An  ugly  story.     I  got  it  at  the  Club     .     .     . 
but  it  must  be  all  over  London  by  now. 
The  same  old  error  of  giving  a  Front  Command  to 
a  man  who  has  done  good  work  at  a  desk  in  White- 
hall!    Menzies  was  a  brilliant  chap  but — " 

"Is  he  dead?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of."  She  could  see  that  he 
hated  the  subject,  but  could  not  leave  it  alone.  They 
crossed  Knightsbridge  and  entered  the  Park  before 
he  explained  and  even  then  it  was  with  reluctance. 
To  himself  he  said  that  there  was  nobody  else  to 
whom  he  could  talk  on  a  subject  so  painful  but  Sydney 
Lea  was  a  wonderful  friend.  There  was  no  sense  of 
her  being  an  alien  to  trouble  this  intimate  moment — 
only  a  deeper  consciousness  of  sympathy. 

"Well — you  have  been  hearing  on  all  sides  that 
an  offensive  was  planned  ?  The  way  everybody  talks 
about  these  things  is  perfectly  appalling  . 
no  wonder  the  French  think  us  naif.  ...  At 
all  events,  the  offensive  was  planned  to  start  off  yes- 
terday with  an.  attack  by  Menzies'  division  . 
I  can't  give  you  details  and  there  are  all  sorts  of  ru- 
mours flying  about,  but  so  far  as  one  can  tell  he  omit- 
ted the  most  elementary  precautions  in  supporting  his 
attack — balled  up  things  behind  the  lines  into  a 
hopeless  mess,  and  wound  up  by  turning  the  bar- 
rage fire  on  our  own  men." 

She  fixed  her  eyes  on  him  in  a  pale  horror.  This 
bald  account  of  indescribable  confusion,  rout,  defeat, 
betrayal,  death, — what  a  picture  it  raised  in  her 
mind! 

"And  then?"  came  her  low  question. 

"Then  the  Huns  came  back — they  were  quite 
ready  you  may  be  sure.  Luckily,  the  French  v^ere 
just  around  the  corner  .  .  .  nothing  very  im- 


i9o      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

portant  has  been  given  up,  but  of  course  some  terrain 
had  to  be  sacrificed." 

"But  General  Menzies — ?" 

"Relieved  of  his  command  and  recalled.  There 
will  be  an  investigation  and  lots  of  talk — after  the 
harm  has  been  done." 

"And  then  what  will  happen?" 

"Nothing." 

"You  mean — " 

"Just  what  I  say — nothing!  That's  what  always 
happens  in  England."  She  heard  him  draw  a  moved 
breath  and  add  as  if  to  himself  ".  .  .  Thank 
God !  I  shall  soon  be  out  of  it  all !" 

By  the  impatience  and  pain  which  the  subject 
roused  in  him,  the  dramatic  intensity  of  his  expression 
was  heightened.  He  looked  more  than  ever  like  some 
fierce  restless  bird  just  plumed  for  flight.  She  felt 
vibrantly  how  he  longed  to  take  wing;  to  be  again  on 
active  service  and  out  of  this  heart-wringing  chaos  of 
offices  and  bureaux. 

"Don't  let  us  talk  about  it  ...  ,"  he  burst  forth 
impetuously,  "it's  too  horrible  ...  I'd  never  have 
mentioned  it  to  you  but  that  I  was  sure  you  knew  it 
already  from  Sir  Thomas !" 

"Poor  Sir  Thomas !"  Sydney  murmured.  Her 
companion  made  a  gesture  of  finality  and  assent. 

She  felt  the  blow  to  her  employer's  pride  was  the 
blow  to  her  friend's  also.  So  she  changed  the  sub- 
ject by  referring  to  the  grace  of  a  passing  child,  who 
danced  upon  the  path,  and  the  soldier's  eye  was 
soothed.  He  looked  at  her  gratefully.  His  was  a 
nature  consistent  in  its  simplicity  and  very  much  under 
the  influence  of  anyone  to  whom  he  may  once  have 
given  his  confidence. 

During  the  next  week  she  had  another  reminder,  if 
such  were  needed,  that  she  was  not  in  her  own  coun- 
try. Sir  Thomas  returned  to  his  work  in  due  course : 


ADVENTURE  191 

she  waited  for  him  to  say  something  about  the  down- 
fall of  Sir  Hector,  but  he  never  did.  The  incident 
caused  him  an  acute  pain,  sc  that  he  never  of  his  own 
motion  alluded  to  it  again.  Many  months  afterward, 
when  he  went  away  for  a  week,  he  gave  his  secretary 
without  comment,  the  address  of  Menzies'  house  in 
Scotland  and  she  knew  by  that  only,  that  he  held  to 
his  old  friendship.  At  the  time,  she  noticed  that  his 
face  looked  a  trifle  less  calm  and  ruddy  than  usual; 
she  thought  that  he  stooped  a  little.  What  a  toll 
these  three  years  had  taken  out  of  his  life,  his  secre- 
tary reflected,  watching  day  by  day  the  work  of  this 
high-hearted  and  steadfast  gentleman, — the  fate  of 
Tom,  the  fate  of  Hugh,  and  now,  worse  by  far  than 
invalidism  or  death,  the  fate  of  his  best  friend! 

Sir  Thomas  went  about  his  daily  task  slowly, 
steadily,  powerfully,  like  the  Englishman  he  was, 
carrying  his  head  just  a  trifle  higher  for  each  fresh 
strain,  loss,  disappointment,  that  he  or  his  country 
met.  If  no  danger  could  make  him  hasten  his  pace, 
neither  could  it  make  him  relax  his  routine.  If  he 
and  his  like  were  insusceptible  to  new  ideas,  they  were 
insusceptible  to  panic  also.  If  he  was  slow  to  change 
his  methods,  he  was  slow  also  to  lose  confidence.  He 
stood,  in  Sydney's  mind,  representative  of  that  Eng- 
lish morale,  the  most  unconquerable  quality  of  the 
human  spirit,  by  whose  aid  he  would  continue  all  his 
life  the  task  of  making  bricks  without  straw. 

The  Menzies  debacle  emained  one  of  the  heaviest 
blows  which  had  befallen  him ;  but  in  the  next  few 
days,  this,  and  all  other  anxieties  were  swept  aside  by 
the  news  of  the  Somme  offensive  and  the  hourly 
danger  to  his  son  Middleton,  in  France. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

A  WEEK  later,  when  all  the  world  was  hanging  on 
the  news  of  the  battle,  and  when  to  the  Easterly 
family,  Middleton's  brief  letters  from  the  Front  con- 
stituted the  hope  by  which  they  lived  on  from  day  to 
day — in  the  midst  of  this  racking  suspense,  Harry 
Ashburnham  came  to  Sydney  to  bid  her  good-bye.  He 
did  not  say  where  he  was  going  or  on  what  mission, 
and  he  spoke  most  vaguely  of  his  return.  It  was 
evident  that  he  was  glad  to  be  off.  He  was  a  fine, 
eager  creature,  any  inactivity  chafed  him.  She  gath- 
ered, however,  that  the  job  was  the  one  he  had 
specially  desired  and  that  he  owed  it  to  Romeyne's 
influence.  He  said  he  would  write  to  her  if  possible 
— but  feared  he  would  be  cut  out  of  the  way  of  the 
mails  for  a  long  time.  One  was  not  even  to  know 
if  he  were  going  North  or  South,  East  or  West,  nor 
what  the  day  nor  which  the  railway  station.  It  was 
"orders"  that  he  should  depart  as  mysteriously  as  he 
came. 

Sydney  was  sorry  to  have  him  go.  They  had 
been  such  "pals"  as  he  called  it,  their  talks  had  been 
so  unconstrained,  she  knew  she  would  miss  that 
friendship.  There  had  always  been  something  strong 
and  helpful  about  the  man ;  she  had  felt  toward  him 
almost  as  toward!  a  fellow  countryman.  Suddenly,  in 
that  London  world  she  began  to  feel  lonely. 

"And  so  you  miss  the  beau-sabreur?"  asked 
Romeyne,  in  that  intonation  whose  very  unmoved 
suavity  held  a  touch  of  irony. 

"Very  much,  indeed." 

"Ah  you  are  not  a  philosopher  about  such  encoun- 

192 


ADVENTURE  193 

ters,  I  fear.  Life  is  made  up  of  meetings  and  partings 
— of  people  who  come  into  one's  existence  and  then 
go — which  is  bad; — and  of  people  who  come  into 
one's  existence  and  then  remain,  which  is  worse  I" 

"You  speak  very  bitterly." 

"I  have  cause — I  have  cause,"  he  answered 
rapidly  as  though  hurried  along  by  some  unexpected 
impulse  into  candour.  He  was  standing  by  her  desk, 
frowning,  and  she  saw  him  make  a  distinct  effort  to 
recover  that  measured  calmness  of  speech  which  was 
his — and  she  saw  him  fail.  "I  am  feeling  particularly 
bound — harassed  just  now — my  house  oppresses  me 
—I  envy  Ashburnham  that  he  turns  his  face  toward 
freedom — he  turns  his  face  toward  freedom,  while 
I  am  in  this  squirrel  cage !" 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  was  her  low  rejoinder. 

"Are  you  really — are  you  really  sorry?" 

The  contrast  between  his  own  moved  utterance  and 
his  past  somewhat  sententious  habit  of  speech  seemed 
to  strike  and  shock  him.  He  straightened  himself 
and  the  second  effort  to  be  usual,  succeeded. 

"But  don't  let  yourself  miss  the  beau-sabreur  too 
much,  he  is  an  uncertain  creature — and  he  moves 
hither  and  yon  at  the  whim  of  the  heartless  War- 
Office.  Your  happiness  does  not  lie  there." 

"Why  should  you  concern  yourself — about  my  hap- 
piness?" She  raised  her  eyes  and  they  rested,  steadily 
on  his  own. 

"Why— I  wonder?" 

There  was  an  instant's  silence  in  which  she  felt 
that  one  must  go  on  speaking — yet  knew  not  what 
to  say.  Finally  some  banality  about  Ashburnham's 
being  so  like  an  American 'came  to  her  rescue.  There 
was  relief  in  the  half-laugh  with  which  it  was  re- 
ceived, and  which  seemed  to  restore  the  normal  vibra- 
tions of  the  atmosphere.  Sir  Thomas  came  in  just 
then  with  Middleton's  last  letter  in  his  hand  and  the 


194      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

two  men  plunged  immediately  into  earnest  talk. 
Sydney  bent  over  her  typewriter  and  told  herself  that 
for  once  in  her  life  she  felt  really  tired. 

These  last  weeks  had  been  very  full.  Sir  Thomas 
had  been  both  troubled  and  anxious.  His  boy's 
danger,  the  blow  to  his  pride  in  the  fall  of  General 
Menzies  had  made  him  worried  and  discouraged. 
He  had  come  to  depend  upon  his  secretary  more  and 
more — the  duties  which  she  now  undertook  for  him 
were  far  heavier  and  more  important  than  those 
which  Bolder  had  ever  even  attempted.  They  re- 
quired skill  and  penetration  which  she  herself  could 
not  have  possessed  a  year  ago.  On  the  impressions 
which  she  received  of  people  and  the  estimates  of 
character  she  formed,  her  employer  openly  relied.  In 
all  that  labyrinth  of  party  politics  and  national 
muddle,  where  democratic  principle  struggled  with 
aristocratic  privilege,  where  passionate  individualism 
opposed  itself  at  each  turn  to  collective  effort,  Sydney 
journeyed,  keeping  her  hand  on  the  thread  of  char- 
acter and  circumstances.  Her  reports  were  couched 
in  terms  as  candid  as  they  were  shrewd, — Sir  Thomas 
read  them  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  Sir  Thomas 
rarely  laughed,  but  he  frequently  twinkled  at  his 
secretary's  opinion  of  people  and  things.  When 
Sydney  wrote  of  one  elderly  functionary: — 

"A  nasty  old  man — he  would  have  massacred  the 
Armenians  if  they  had  only  been  heathen!"  or  of 
another  in  a  phrase  borrowed  from  Romeyne: — 

"The  sort  of  bureaucrat  who  thinks  that  if  he  only 
puts  off  deciding  anything  long  enough  perhaps  he 
may  escape  having  to  decide  it  altogether."  Or  of 
a  third : — 

"He  is  a  combination  of  pompousness  and  sen- 
suality;which  would  do  credit  to  a  Zulu !" — 

Sir  Thomas  raised  his  eyebrows,  but  he  believed 
her. 


ADVENTURE  195 

"I  am  not  at  ease  about  this  young  man  who  has 
applied  for  the  post  of  special  clerk  to  the  Com- 
mittee," he  might  observe,  when  she  presented  her- 
self before  him  in  the  morning;  "it  is  not  clear  how 
and  why  he  claims  exemption  and  someone  says  his 
mother  was  Austrian.  Do  you  think  you  can  find  out 
the  real  state  of  affairs  for  me?" 

Miss  Lea  replied  that  she  could,  and  set  to  work 
in  the  slow,  quiet  and  diplomatic  manner  by  which 
alone — she  came  to  know — such  things  were  to  be 
ascertained.  A  careful,  chance  encounter  with  an 
affable  underling  in  some  accessible  bureau — a 
pleasant  word  in  passing,  with  old  Parker,  while  one 
was  waiting  in  the  outer  office  for  Mr.  Romeyne's 
signature — perhaps,  a  respectful  enquiry  of  the  fellow 
Committee-member  who  had  strolled  into  Charles 
Street  for  a  word  with  his  colleague — these  bits  of 
information  could  be  fitted  together  so  as  to  form  a 
dossier  to  be  laid  before  Sir  Thomas. 

Since  the  incident  of  Sir  Jacob  Fredericks,  it  was 
evident  that  she  had  greatly  risen  in  her  employer's 
estimation.  Moreover,  English  confidence  once 
given  is  given  without  reserves.  This  added  to  her 
responsibility  and  there  were  moments  in  Sydney's 
day  when  she  was  both  terrified  and  exhilarated  at  the 
trust  reposed  in  her.  The  War,  and  all  of  Sir 
Thomas's  work  which  had  any  connection  with  or 
bearing  on  the  War — had  an  intense  fascination  for 
her — seeming  to  change  the  face  of  the  so-called 
stable  universe  while  she  looked.  Sydney  was  al- 
most ashamed  of  this  excitement,  but  it  existed  and 
in  more  mfnds  than  her  own. 

She  was  pleasantly  aware,  too,  that  Lady  Easterly 
had  come  to  share  her  husband's  attitude.  He  had 
told  his  wife  the  Fredericks  story  and  she  was  appre- 
ciative, showing  it  to  the  secretary  in  a  hundred  ways, 


i96      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

chiefly  by  treating  her  as  a  valued  member  of  the 
family,  to  be  consulted  at  every  turn. 

"Americans  are  such  a  help!"  she  would  say; 
standing  in  the  doorway  with  that  imposing  erect- 
ness  and  splendid,  elderly  good-looks  which  Sydney 
found  so  attractive.  She  would  even  call  up  on  the 
telephone  from  the  country  to  ask  about  her  husband, 
"Was  he  all  right,  or  did  Miss  Lea  think  he  was 
overworking?  Would  she  not  use  her  influence  to 
make  him  come  home  for  a  week-end?"  And  so  on. 

On  a  rainy  Saturday  evening  at  the  end  of  July, 
Sydney  sat  resting  and  reading  in  the  little  drawing- 
room.  Miss  Violand  had  gone  to  spend  a  few  days 
at  the  sea — near  to  the  coast  town  where  her  nephew 
was  stationed.  Sydney  slipped  into  a  house  frock; 
she  dined  alone,  chatting  with  Giddy,  and  she  wrote  a 
letter  to  Elizabeth.  It  was  delightful  to  be  able  to 
sit  down  to  one's  book  for  a  long  peaceful  evening, 
well-earned.  She  did  not  hear  the  door-bell  ring,  and 
she  looked  up  in  surprise  when  Giddy  entered  the 
room  bringing  her  a  note.  Giddy's  ample  form  shook 
from  her  haste — there  was  a  man,  she  said,  who  was 
waiting  for  an  answer.  The  envelope  was  in  Sir 
Thomas's  hand  and  its  contents  ran  as  follows : — 

"Dear  Miss  Lea: 

"You  have  so  many  times  during  the  past  month 
given  me  proof  of  your  fidelity  and  devotion  to  our 
cause,  that  I  do  not  hesitate  tonight  to  ask  of  you  a 
very  special  service,  which  in  no  sense  comes  under 
the  head  of  your  secretarial  duties.  The  reason  I  ask 
it  is  because  of  my  confidence  in  you,  but  you  are  in 
no  way  bound  to  accede  to  my  request.  If,  however, 
you  are  willing,  as  I  hope,  to  be  of  very  great  service 
to  the  country  at  large,  as  well  as  to  myself,  please 
accompany  the  bearer  of  this  note — as  quickly  as  you 
can — to  the  place  where  your  task  is  to  be  performed. 


ADVENTURE  197 

He  is  a  subordinate  and  must  not  be  questioned.  The 
matter  is  too  grave  for  me  to  be  more  explicit  in  this 
letter;  you  will  of  course  receive  a  full  explanation  in 
due  time.  You  must  prepare  to  be  absent  from  your 
lodging  until  tomorrow.  I  feel  sure  that  I  can  count 
on  you :  as  on  your  complete  silence  respecting  this 
communication. 

"Yours  very  sincerely, 

"Thomas  Easterly." 

She  read  this  astonishing  note  carefully  twice. 

"Will  you  tell  the  bearer,"  she  asked  Giddy,  "that 
I  shall  be  with  him  in  a  few  minutes?" 

"But  you  will  never  be  going  out  this  rough  night, 
Miss?"  was  Giddy's  exclamation;  and  Miss  Lea 
laughed  and  said  "Orders,  Giddy!"  as  she  held  Sir 
Thomas's  letter  to  the  candleflame  and  watched  it 
consume. 

Her  preparations  were  brief.  She  changed  her 
dress  for  a  street  frock  of  serge  and  she  put  a  few 
necessaries  into  the  big  pockets  of  her  service  over- 
coat. Somehow,  the  tone  of  the  message  gave  her  a 
feeling  that  bed,  that  night  at  least,  was  not  to  be 
her  portion.  There  was  work  to  be  done — what 
work? — where?  As  she  descended  the  stair  the  clock 
marked  a  little  past  eight.  Giddy,  leaning  over  the 
balustrade,  watching  her  depart  with  flurried  anxiety. 

The  messenger,  standing  just  inside  the  passage, 
wore  a  chauffeur's  cap  and  a  long  black  mackintosh. 
To  her  few  words  that  she  was  ready,  he  bowed  in 
silence,  and  preceded  her  with  alacrity  and  deference 
to  the  street,  where  a  large  and  handsome  car  stood 
drawn  up  to  the  curb.  He  opened  the  door  for  her 
and  then,  after  wrapping  a  heavy  rug  about  her  knees, 
he  slipped  into  his  place  beside  a  second  man  who  was 
driving,  and  in  a  breath  the  whole  equipage  glided 
off  into  the  wet  night.  A  turn — they  passed  Berkeley 


ig8      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

Square  and  turned  up  Davies  Street,  a  twist, — they 
had  crossed  Oxford  Street  and  were  running  north. 
In  the  thick  soft  rain  and  darkness  Sydney  saw  but 
little,  she  knew  only  that  presently  the  motor  settled 
down  to  that  hum  of  steadily  maintained  speed  which 
showed  they  must  be  travelling  on  one  of  the  main 
arteries  of  London. 

The  incident  had  passed  so  quietly,  so  swiftly,  that 
she  felt  as  if  in  a  dream.  Darkness  had  covered  the 
insignia  upon  the  panels  of  the  car;  but  it  was  a  large 
limousine,  and  she  knew  that  such  cars  were  growing 
fewer  every  day.  She  searched  inside  for  some  hint 
as  to  the  owner,  but  there  was  none.  .  .  .  The  two 
men  sat  like  wooden  figures  on  the  other  side  of  the 
glass  pane. 

What  a  strange  adventure  .  .  .  Damp  mist-filled 
air,  raw,  rather  than  cold,  blew  against  her  face.  By 
and  by,  it  bore  country  odors,  rising  from  wet  earth 
and  dripping  hedgerows,  fallen  roses  and  the  pungent 
later-blooming  flowers. 

What  was  likely  to  be  required  of  her?  She  specu- 
lated in  vain,  as  they  ran  on,  and  on.  That  even, 
purring  speed  of  a  powerful  engine  moved  them, 
noiseless  and  effortless,  pausing  perhaps  at  some 
cross-road,  only  to  spring  forward  again.  Mile  after 
mile;  on  and  on;  London  is  vast  indeed;  but  even 
London  was  left  behind.  They  were  in  open  country; 
running  between  high  hedges  or  past  darkened  cot- 
tages. The  rain  diminished,  then  ceased;  the  pure 
sky  shone  out,  with  a  faint  star  or  two  glimmering 
and  a  church  steeple  piercing  it  here  and  there.  The 
air  became  warmer,  perfumed,  pleasant;  she  began 
to  grow  uneasy,  troubled,  because  they  went  on  so 
fast,  so  steadily.  ...  A  long  time  passed.  Then  a 
slowing  down  and  a  sudden  turn  to  the  right,  with 
a  flying  glimpse  of  huge  iron  gates  topped  with 
armorial  bearings,  .  .  .  made  her  heart  beat.  They 


ADVENTURE  199 

were  running  under  the  trees  of  an  avenue.  Nearby 
were  shrubs:  pungent,  aromatic.  The  horn  blew. 
There  was  an  instant  only  to  glance  around  her — 
and  then  the  car  slowed  and  stopped  before  a  house 
which  stretched  out  into  long  wings  and  white  arcaded 
terraces,  with  tall  vases  on  them.  Scarlet  geraniums 
overflowed  these  great  vases  with  a  flame  of  colour. 
.  .  .  The  front-door  opened  and  light  streamed  on 
the  steps.  The  chauffeur  opened  the  door  of  the 
car  and  helped  Sydney  to  alight. 

An  elderly,  wooden-faced  man  servant  standing 
before  her,  indicated  that  she  was  to  follow.  She 
obeyed,  noticing  that  he  limped  a  little.  They  stood 
in  a  long  hall  which  traversed  the  building,  and  was 
distinguished  by  one  of  those  curved  and  hanging 
staircases  to  be  seen  only  in  houses  of  a  certain  period. 
Rugs  lay  on  the  marble  floor,  masses  of  flowers  stood 
about.  The  furniture  was  heavy  and  huge.  She  was 
struck  by  the  silence  of  the  place  ...  it  seemed 
absolutely  still.  .  .  .  The  butler  preceded  her, 
limping,  to  the  other  end  of  the  hall  and  knocked  at 
a  door.  Then  opening  it,  he  ushered  her  within,  an- 
nouncing her  by  name.  The  room  was  small  and 
square,  lined  with  books;  there  were  lamps,  a  little 
fire  took  away  the  dampness  from  the  air.  A  man, 
who  had  been  sitting  beside  it,  rose  and  came  eagerly 
to  meet  her  from  the  shadows  of  the  room — but  this 
man  was  not  Sir  Thomas  Easterly.  It  was  Adrian 
Romeyne. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

"You  I"  she  cried,  bewildered. 

"Yes,  but  do  not  look  so  troubled.  ...  Sir 
Thomas  understands;  it  was  his  idea  that  we  should 
ask  for  your  help.  .  .  .  It  is  all  right.  Come,  sit 
down — put  your  coat  there — are  you  chilled  with  the 
long  ride?" 

He  took  her  hands  in  his  and  drew  her  gently  to 
a  chair  near  the  fire.  His  face  was  moved,  stirred, 
as  she  had  never  seen  it.  The  touch  of  strain,  of  ex- 
citement in  it  communicated  itself  to  her  own. 

"What  has  happened?     Where  is  Sir  Thomas?" 

"You  shall  hear  all  as  soon  as  I  can  tell  you.  Are 
you  comfortable,  meanwhile?  Would  you  like  a 
glass  of  sherry,  a  sandwich  perhaps?" 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  gesture  of  impatience : 
and  Romeyne,  walking  up  and  down  the  room  as  he 
talked,  but  keeping  his  voice  level  and  aloof,  began 
to  explain.  His  explanation  was  long  and  deeply  in- 
teresting, so  concentrated  was  she  that  her  eyelids 
never  quivered  as  she  listened.  Through  it  all,  she 
was  intensely  conscious  of  the  intimacy  of  the 
moment,  that  he  turned  to  her  and  laid  the  matter 
before  her;  that  it  was  she  he  desired  to  help  him; 
that  it  was  she  who  actually  was  helping  him.  That 
was  the  vibrant  background  to  his  story. 

Romeyne  said  that  upstairs  in  a  room  of  this  great 
house  there  lay  a  woman  vrho  had  been  found  guilty 
— irremediably  and  avowedly  guiltv  of  treason  and 
betrayal.  She  was  a  young  woman  hardly  more  than 
a  girl,  but,  young  as  she  was,  her  life  had  been  already 
indelibly  scarred  with  the  tragedy  of  folly.  Daughter 

200 


ADVENTURE  201 

of  a  well-known  man  holding  distinguished  political 
office,  she  had  made,  just  before  the  outbreak  of  War, 
a  marriage  regarded  as  entirely  suitable,  with  the  son 
of  another  prominent  family,  a  boy  of  her  own  age. 
The  suitability  had  been  chiefly  material,  but  there 
had  not  been  time  for  her  to  be  very  bored  with  this 
rather  dull  young  man  before  the  hour  came  for  him 
to  go  off  to  France.  At  first,  the  emotions  of  that 
time,  his  danger  and  the  like,  seemed  about  to  avert 
the  catastrophe  which  their  friends  had  seen  pre- 
paring, and  perhaps  if  he  had  been  wounded  and  re- 
turned-^— a  fresh  current  of  sympathy  and  affection 
might  have  brought  them  together  again.  But  he  was 
not  wounded,  and  early  in  1915 — a  year  or  more  ago 
—this  young  woman  went  off  for  a  week  with  another 
officer,  in  one  of  those  casual  connections,  rootless  and 
brief  and  sensual,  which  seemed,  in  her  parents  ap- 
palled eyes,  to  link  her  with  the  bensts  that  perish. 

The  husband  was  young  and  loyal;  her  betrayal 
had  been  base.  Proceedings  were  at  once  started  for 
a  divorce,  and  while  they  were  pending,  the  name  of 
the  co-respondent  one  day  headed  the  list  of  killed. 
Perhaps — if  he  had  lived  and  cared  for  her — per- 
haps— if  her  mother's  final  illness  had  not  been  hast- 
ened by  shame  and  sorrow — the  last  act  in  this  drama 
of  horror  and  despair  might  never  have  taken  place. 
At  it  was,  the  girl  found  herself  tossing  like  sea-weed 
on  the  wildest  waters ;  for  her  father,  rigid  and  unfor- 
giving, marked  his  displeasure  by  cutting  down  her 
allowance  and  seeing  her  as  seldom  as  possible.  The 
London  world  not  unnaturally  followed  his  lead  and 
the  sinner  suffered  an  ostracism  which  she  found  piti- 
fully incomprehensible.  If  her  allowance  of  money 
had  been  larger,  she  might  have  bought  toleration,  but 
there  is  small  place  in  society  for  the  woman  who  is 
both  besmirched  and  poor — .  Gambling  might  be  a 
diversion,  but  it  did  not  tend  to  increase  one's  income 


— particularly,  when  among  the  people  with  whom 
she  played  and  to  whom  she  lost  most  frequently, 
was  a  certain  South  African  gentleman  claiming  to  be 
of  an  Amsterdam  family,  and  known  as  Mr.  Ludwig 
Leo. 

Mr.  Leo  was  not  a  diamond  king;  in  fact  his 
means  of  livelihood  were  not  clearly  defined;  but  he 
was  very  well  aware  that  the  girl  who  looked  so 
frightened  when  she  lost,  was  the  daughter  of  an  Ex- 
Minister  and  the  niece  of  a  Minister  in  power.  Mr. 
Leo  saw  possibilities  in  the  acquaintance  and  he  was 
very  good-humoured  indeed.  He  tore  up  one  of  her 
little  I.  O.  Us. — with  that  pleasant  smile  of  his;  and 
she  was  so  much  relieved  that,  when  he  telephoned 
the  day  after  and  asked  her  to  find  out  a  trifling  mat- 
ter for  him  from  Uncle  Jack — just  to  settle  a  bet — 
she  really  could  not  refuse.  So  she  found  it  out  from 
Uncle  Jack — without  very  much  trouble,  and  passed 
on  the  information  to  Mr.  Leo.  It  was  a  trivial  de- 
tail concerning  some  battleship  or  other;  and  Mr.  Leo 
was  so  grateful  at  winning  his  bet,  he  made  such  a 
matter  of  it,  that  one  quite  liked  him — evidently, 
though  vulgar,  he  was  a  good  creature.  Mr.  Leo 
continued  to  be  grateful, — and  one  afternoon,  find- 
ing out  how  things  were,  he  insisted  on  lending  her 
a  little  money  till  next  quarter-day.  As  he  said,  she 
had  already  done  him  a  favor  and  one  good  turn  de- 
serves anoher.  So  one  simply  couldn't  refuse,  after 
that,  to  help  him  by  finding  out  some  little  thing 
whenever  he  asked  it. 

Unbelievable  that  this  had  gone  on  for  weeks  and 
the  fish  had  not  felt  the  hook !  When  the  demands 
grew  more  insistent  and  brought  uneasiness — by  that 
time,  the  girl  was  deep,  deep  in  a  morass  to  which 
there  seemed  no  way  out.  One  must  go  on,  because 
one  could  not  turn  back,  Mr.  Leo  saw  to  that.  Mr. 
Leo  commanded  a  complete  submission  to  her  father, 


ADVENTURE  203 

which  softened  him  sufficiently  to  lead  to  a  visit  home 
—especially  as  he  saw  how  pale  and  strained  the  girl 
was  from  remorse,  and  how  sleepless.  Once  she  was 
at  home,  Mr.  Leo  found  little  things  that  she  might 
do  for  him  every  day  or  two,  and  if  she  objected— 
there  were  always  reminders  of  what  had  been  done, 
and  of  the  money  owing,  and  of  the  newspapers — 
all  of  it  in  a  kindly  sort  of  way  of  course;  but  the 
suggestions  in  themselves  were  enough  to  send  one 
into  a  chilly  shudder  of  fear.  Sleep  went;  and  the 
nerves  went,  and  the  drugs  one  took  revenged  them- 
selves next  morning.  And  the  thought  of  Mr.  Leo 
stayed  with  one  every  moment  of  the  day  and  night — . 

"Don't  look  so  distressed,"  said  Adrian,  stopping 
at  this  point  to  look  down  on  the  girl  in  the  chair, 
"your  eyes  are  so  big — its  a  horrible  story,  I  know." 

"Have  they  caught  the  man?" 

He  made  a  gesture  of  despair.  "Alas,  no!  He 
must  have  slipped  away  to  Holland  when  he  found 
the  thing  could  not  be  kept  up  any  longer.  Some 
minor  member  of  the  gang  got  into  trouble  and  Leo 
had  to  run  for  it.  We  don't  know  how  exactly — but 
it  is  supposed  a  Dutch  trawler  picked  him  up  from 
somewhere  on  the  coast.  He  was  only  one  of  a 
group — the  cleverest — and  they  had  been  very  well 
organized.  But  when  the  cog  slipped — then  this 
came  out  and  that  brings  me  to  the  point."  He 
paused,  looking  about  him  for  a  chair,  then  drew  it 
near  to  her  and  lowered  his  voice.  She  kept  her  eyes 
upon  his  own.  The  house  enfolded  them  with  an 
absolute,  palpable  stillness. 

"We  know  that  all  their  plans  must  have  been 
admirably  laid.  They  had  many  sources  of  informa- 
tion, just  how  many  remains  to  be  discovered  and 
they  covered  their  tracks  so  well  that  Scotland  Yard 
is  not  very  sanguine.  If  it  had  not  been  that^  one 
man  became  frightened — an  Austrian  portrait-painter 


204      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

with  an  Irish  wife,  whom  the  P.  M.  refused  to  let  us 
intern, — if  he  had  not  suddenly  taken  fright  and  given 
out  a  clue, — why  it  might  have  gone  even  further. 
And  as  it  is,  it  is  bad  enough.  .  .  . 

"So  of  course  they  sent  for  you  ...  ?"  He 
threw  out  his  hands  with  a  little  gesture.  "Think  I 
Think  what  it  is !  The  people  who  own  this  house, 
her  father,  her  uncle.  .  .  .  Think  what  this 
must  mean  to  them !  Already  her  uncle  has  gone  up 
to  Town,  and  his  resignation  -will  be  in  Government 
hands  tomorrow.  ...  As  for  her  father,  how 
can  he  ever  hold  up  his  head  again?" 

"They  are  trying  to  save  her     ...      ?" 

"They  cannot  possibly  save  her  and  they  know  it. 
It  is  not  that.  But  there  is  the  scandal,  the  news- 
papers, the  political  situation  generally.  ...  I  do 
not  need  to  tell  you, — to  tell  you  how  very  shaky  the 
Coalition  is,  and  how  restive  the  public — how  dissat- 
isfied. .  .  .  An  incident  like  this,  if  it  becomes 
known,  means  a  crash  .  .  .  and  we  are  in  the  midst 
of  a  terrible  battle  in  which  our  losses  have  been  ap- 
palling. Think  of  our  Allies,  of  France,  of  the  ter- 
rible blow  to  confidence  at  home !" 

"I  understand." 

"You  would,  I  know.  I  do  not  exaggerate, — I  do 
not  exaggerate  when  I  say,  that  this  occurrence  may 
do  more  harm  than  the  Irish  Rebellion  ...  if 
it  becomes  generally  known." 

"But  if  the  woman  is  punished,"  Sydney  said,  her 
voice  falling  softly  on  the  strained  anxiety  of  his, 
while  his  gaze  sought  comfort  from  her  face,  "how 
can  it  possibly  be  helped  ...  ?" 

"Ah,  there  are  ways.  .  .  .  There  are  penal- 
ties and  penalties.  Her  father  and  uncle  may  have  no 
wish  to  save  her  from  the  consequences  of  her  crime, 
nor  to  save  themselves,  but  I  have  pointed  out  to 
them,  (they  are  both  old  friends  of  mine,)  I  have 


ADVENTURE  205 

pointed  out  that  they  must  save  the  country.     .     . 
I  came  down  here  early  this  morning  and  we  have 
been   conferring.     ...     I   believe   now   I    have 
most  of  the  threads  in  my  hand  and  can  control  the 
situation,  except — " 

"Except     .     .     .      ?" 

"That  is  where  you  come  in,  where  my  confidence 
in  you  comes  in.  You  remember  I  told  you  she  was 
but  one  of  many  victims?  We  know  that  and  we 
know  that  others  are  involved.  To  save  a  crash  we 
must  get  hold  of  the  rest  of  these  traitors  at  once." 

"This  woman  then?" 

He  was  standing  beside  her  chair  with  his  hand 
on  the  back  of  it.  No  stolidity  or  serenity  could  hide 
the  pain  in  his  face  or  the  trust  in  the  eyes  he  bent  to- 
wards her.  Her  own  exquisite  response  quivered — 
to  meet  it. 

"She  has  been  keeping  up  chiefly  by  chloral  and 
brandy,  and  she  has  no  nerves  left.  She  lies  upstairs 
in  utter  collapse,  a  whimpering,  shrieking,  hysterical 
wreck.  How  to  get  out  of  her  what  she  knows? 
We've  tried  all  day,  but  she  clings  to  her  silence.  This 
man,  Leo,  must  have  frightened  her  so  thoroughly, 
her  sick  mind  can  hold  no  other  idea. 
And  you  see  how  vital  it  is.  ...  And  time  is 
flying,  a  whole  day  has  been  lost.  We  know  that  in- 
formation, of  one  kind  or  another  has  been  steadily 
trickling  through  them.  It  is  believed  that  even  per- 
haps K. " 

The  idea  smote  Sydney  with  such  horror  that 
Adrian,  noting  it,  paused  a  moment.  Then  he  went 
on: — 

"Every  hour,  every  moment  adds  to  our  danger; 
and  to  the  chance  that  they  may  all  escape.  Yet  she 
will  not  speak.  So  they  came  to  me  and  told  me  how 
they  had  failed  because  of  her  condition,  and  also 
they  felt  that  she  must  have  a  nurse,  lest  she  kill  her- 


206      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

self — before  she  speaks.     And  that  must  be  preven- 
ted, though  I  for  one  could  not  blame  her." 

"Nor  I." 

"An  ordinary  nurse  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 
Then  I  had  an  inspiration — the  thought  of  you.  So 
you  see.  I  told  them  I  would  provide  someone  whom 
we  might  trust.  I  called  up  Easterly  and  after  some 
persuasion  he  was  willing  to  write  you  the  note.  It 
was  the  only  way." 

"I  am  to  persuade  her  to  speak?    But — " 

"Persuade,  threaten,  anything.  Alone  with  you— 
a  woman — surely,  she  will  yield.  Time  is  the  only 
thing — I  fear  that  tomorrow  will  be  too  late." 

"She  must  speak  tonight?" 

"She  must  speak  tonight." 

"Then  let  me  go  to  her  at  once."  She  saw  his  face 
lighten  and  was  repaid.  Their  hands  clasped, 

"You  are  splendid — as  I  knew  you  would  be,"  was 
his  low  answer. 

The  butler  with  the  grave  face  and  the  slight  awk- 
wardness of  gait  was  standing  in  the  hall  as  they  came 
out.  Romeyne  addressed  him  with  an  impressive 
authority  of  voice  and  manner. 

"Morton,  can  I  count  on  your  help,  tonight?" 

"To  the  utmost  of  my  power,  sir." 

"Very  good.    You  must  remain  here  in  the  hall- 
even  if  it  be  all  night — until  Miss  Lea  calls  you. 
You  can  arrange  a  chair  and  rug?" 

"Quite  easily,  sir.    And  when  Miss  Lea  calls?" 

"You  are  to  come  for  me  at  once.  I  shall  be 
dressed — waiting  in  my  room.  But  you  must  not 
leave  the  hall  on  any  pretext  whatever." 

"I  quite  understand,  sir." 

"Have  you  given  my  orders  that  no  one  is  to  ap- 
proach or  to  leave  the  house?" 

"I  went  to  the  lodges  myself,  sir,  and  the  gardener 
with  the  two  old  fellows  will  be  on  guard  all  night." 


ADVENTURE  207 

"And  the  telephone — in  case  his  Lordship  calls 
up?" 

"They  will  keep  the  exchange  open  all  night,  sir, 
and  report  the  line  'engaged'  to  anyone  except  his 
Lordship." 

"Excellent.  You  can  take  Miss  Lea  to  her  room." 
He  turned  to  Sydney. 

"You  will  find  a  nurse's  uniform  there.  Ask  for 
anything  you  may  need." 

She  bent  her  head  in  assent  and  followed  Morton 
upstairs.  Romeyne  stood  below  in  the  hall,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  her — his  face  drawn  and  white  in  its  anxiety. 
Sydney's  chief  feeling  was  that  of  exhilaration. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

^  THE  whisper  from  the  bed  died  out  in  a  moan. 
The  nurse  bent  down,  straightened  the  pillow,  un- 
clasped the  clinging  hands,  wiped  the  wet  forehead, 
repeated,  for  the  hundredth  time: 

"If  you  would  tell  me — if  you  would  only  tell  me." 

"Oh  God,  God!"  the  moan  came  as  before,  and 
then  again  and  again,  "Oh  God  I" 

How  long  the  night  seemed  . 
the  peaceful,  perfumed  night.  .  .  .  Fresh  airs 
came  in  at  the  window,  a  bird  stirred  sleepily,  calling 
to  its  mate.  She  could  hear  so  many  soft,  delicate 
sounds  intermingled  on  that  background  of  exquisite 
silence — the  drops  from  a  distant  fountain  fell,  one 
after  another,  in  a  musical,  monotonous  patter — re- 
peated hour  after  hour  as  her  question  was  repeated. 

"If  you  would  only  speak — they  all  want  you  to 
speak.  Will  you  not  speak  and  save  yourself  ?"  But 
only  the  Name,  so  far,  for  answer. 

The  room  had  been  shrouded  in  greyness  when  she 
entered:  and  it  remained  in  greyness.  All  beyond 
the  circle  cast  by  the  little  night-light  was  in  shadow. 
It  seemed  vast,  with  vague  corners  and  menacing 
shapes  of  furniture.  It  must  be  luxurious.  That 
pallid  square  over  the  mantle  was  a  mirror,  the  smal- 
ler objects  nearby  evidently  photographs.  A  ward* 
robe  stood  open  with  vague  draperies  falling  out  of  it 
once  the  nurse  had  stumbled  over  an  open 
dressing-case — evidences  of  a  sudden  mad  impulse  to 
flight.  .  .  .  One  could  picture  that  frenzy,  and 
the  steps  in  the  hall  outside,  and  the  pause,  and  the 
knock — loud,  peremptory,  like  doom.  Had  she 

208 


ADVENTURE  209 

shrieked  out  at  its  coming?  Or  had  she  stood, 
frozen,  the  eyeballs  gleaming  like  those  of  a  trapped 
rabbit,  while  their  burden  slipped  out  of  the  futile 
hands?  Sydney  turned  her  gaze  from  this  dreadful 
vision  to  look  out  upon  the  sky  which  showed  in- 
finitely pale  and  clear,  not  dark,  only  dimmer  than  the 
stars.  The  trees  moved  on  the  norizon,  like  sea- 
weeds in  a  current.  .  .  .  But  one  must  not 
linger  .  .  .  the  night  was  hurrying  on.  .  .  . 

That  object  against  the  window  was  the  toilet-table. 
There  were  all  sorts  of  small  things  on  it — owned  by 
the  girl  who  babbled  and  moaned  on  the  bed.  Just  a 
young  girl  after  all,  piteously  young.  She  lay  there 
as  if  every  bone  in  her  body  was  broken.  In  her  in- 
coherent despair,  she  turned  her  head  from  side  to 
side  and  long  shudders  went  over  her  body.  .  . 
She  had  shrieked  until  she  had  no  strength  left  to 
shriek.  .  .  .  The  saliva  dribbled  out  of  the 
corners  of  her  mouth.  Yet  she  resisted — terror  kept 
up  her  resistance;  and  from  some  inner  store  of 
strength  she  resisted,  hour  by  hour.  .  .  . 

It  was  cruelty — nothing  but  cruelty  to  torture  her 
so !  Sydney  felt  a  wave  of  nausea  at  this  spectacle  of 
suffering — increased  suffering — which  she  must  not 
alleviate,  but  renew.  The  perpetual  slow  rack  of 
questioning — iteration,  repetition,  threat,  persuasion, 
command ;  vitality  beating  against  vitality,  will  clash- 
ing on  will.  .  .  . 

When  the  victim  did  not  call  on  God,  she  begged, 
sobbing,  for  silence,  for  rest.  .  .  .  And  she 
could  have  no  rest.  .  .  . 

The  house  seemed  to  hold  its  breath  .  .  .  the 
night  seemed  to  race  on  soundlessly,  inevitably.  Yet 
Sydney  felt  dawn  could  not  come,  in  all  its  purity  and 
inspiration,  while  that  woman  lay  upon  the  bed ;  she 
belonged  to  night,  she  was  a  part  of  night.  .  . 

"if you  will  only  answer  me,  then  you  shall  sleep!" 


210     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

Still  the  head  mechanically  shook ;  moans  and  cries 
came  from  the  lips,  the  limbs  were  twisted  almost  as  in 
a  convulsion  .  .  .  was  she  becoming  uncon- 
scious? The  nurse  bent  over  her,  soothing,  steady- 
ing; and  the  eyes  that  met  hers  still  held  knowledge, 
resistance.  She  gave  a  dose  of  stimulant,  and  sat 
silent,  holding  the  girl's  hand  in  her  own. 

This  then  was  Evil.  This  was  in  the  realm  of 
Satan.  One  had  imagined  somehow  that  the  Devil's 
Kingdom  had  vanished  into  the  shadows  of  medi- 
eval superstition,  together  with  other  terrors  of  the 
past.  Wickedness  was  disease :  it  lay  in  the  province 
of  specialists  and  one  was  to  regard  it  with  pity. 
Wrong  was  simply  the  negative  of  right:  the  other 
side  of  the  same  picture,  having  its  roots  in  these 
complicated  social  and  political  injustices  which  legis- 
lation would  in  time  simplify  and  adjust.  Wrong 
was  perhaps  another  point  of  view  about  things — 
such  as  the  German  idea  of  War. 

The  world  was  full  of  light.  There  may  be  dark 
corners  still,  but  only  the  sick  lived  in  them.  .  .  . 
Such  had  been  her  code.  But  now!  She  saw  that 
these  things  actually  were — that  these  horrors  existed. 
This  woman  lay  on  the  rack  where  weakness,  and 
disloyalty  and  vice  and  brandy  and  chloral  had 
brought  her!  She  was  not  diseased — her  resistance 
proved  that  she  was  uncommonly  strong  and  well. 
She  had  all  the  education  and  protection  and  care  and 
affection  possible  to  give.  She  had  no  abnormalities, 
— but  there  she  lay  in  the  power  of  Satan.  This  then 
was  Evil — and  it  was  not  an  imagination.  It  was  a 
terror  and  a  peril  which  were  incredibly  and  awfully 
real. 

"You  must  tell  me  for  your  own  sake.  It 
will  help  to  atone — it  will  rid  you  of  this  dreadful 
secret — then  you  can  sleep !" 

Sydney's  own  voice  sounded  harsh  to  her  ears.  The 


ADVENTURE  211 

woman  answered  her,  praying  for  morphia,  for 
brandy,  for  something  to  dull  the  fear,  to  veil  the 
sharpness  of  despair.  She  turned  her  face  to  the 
nurse  like  a  child  and  begged.  She  whimpered.  She 
knew  nothing — she  said — nothing  at  all — .  The 
nurse  held  up  before  her  the  hypodermic  syringe 
which  the  doctor  had  left — she  bent  over  the  bed. 
She  poured  upon  the  poor  creature  all  the  concentra- 
ted power  of  her  own  vitality  to  compel. 

"You  will  tell  me?    You  will  tell  me  everything?" 

Not  yet.  The  woman  feigned  deafness  or  pre- 
tended unconsciousness.  Her  lips  were  obstinately 
shut.  .  . 

Were  those  steps  outside  the  door,  that  paused, 
that  moved  away?  Romeyne  perhaps,  growing  im- 
patient: one  must  not  disappoint  Romeyne.  He  had 
said  that  the  morning  might  be  too  late.  .  .  . 
After  all  Romeyne  and  Sydney  were  working  to- 
gether for  England,  fighting  with  her  back  against 
the  wall — England  betrayed.  What  young  lives  may 
have  been  uselessly  spent  because  of  the  girl's  sin? 
Sydney's  heart  stiffened.  One  should  not  think  of 
the  girl — she  must  yield.  One  must  remember  the 
baseness  of  disloyalty  toward  a  tradition  and  an  in- 
stinct sprung  from  the  essential  stuff  of  humanity. 
The  struggle  must  go  on. 

Hours  passed.  Steadily  now  the  pressure  of  Syd- 
ney's voice,  of  her  demand,  beat  the  other  down. 

.  .  Pauses  fell,  pauses  of  exhaustion  for  them 
both.  .  .  .  Vague  indefinite  movements  sounded 
from  within  the  house  ...  the  air  from  the 
window  grew  chilly.  Surely,  the  sky  above  the  trees 
was  lighter — translucent  silver? 

And    then,    in    the    dawn,    she    spoke. 
The  words  dropped  from  her  lips  in  faint  gasps. 
Sydney,  standing  by  the  window  with  pad  and  pen- 
cil wrote  steadily.     There  were  names  she  asked  to 


212      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

have  repeated.  The  narrative  filled  her  with  hor- 
ror, so  that  her  fingers  shook.  She  questioned: 
writing  the  answers. 

.     .     "You  met  them  at  Leo's — once?  twice? 
"That  telephone  number  was?     . 
"You  felt  convinced  that  she  had  been 
caught  as  you  had  been? 

"Mostly  through  your  uncle's  secretary, 
Mr.     .     .     .     Belby,  did  you  say? 

"Yes?    I  didn't  catch  that.     .     .     . 

The  voice  ceased.  Sydney  lifted  the  girl  in  her 
arms  and  thrust  a  pen  into  her  fingers.  Then  lay- 
ing her  down,  she  pressed  the  hypodermic  needle 
mercifully  home.  The  tortured  sobbing  slowed,  died 
away,  the  clutching  hand  relaxed.  Silence.  Grey 
dawn  filled  the  room,  and  when  she  looked  out  of 
the  window,  she  heard  the  thrushes  beginning  their 
song. 

Was  she  in  time?  She  left  the  room  holding  the 
paper  tightly  in  her  hand. 

The  long  corridor  blazed  still  with  electric  light, 
and  Sydney  blinked  as  she  fronted  it.  ... 
With  an  indescribable  shock,  she  suddenly  became 
aware  that  a  man  was  standing  a  few  feet  off,  star- 
ing at  her.  He  was  an  unknown  man;  slight,  pale, 
in  evening  dress,  and  his  face  wore  a  fixed,  dis- 
quieting smile.  She  noticed  that  he  moistened  his 
lips  before  speaking. 

"Has  she  told?     Has  she  told — everything?" 

At  the  words  he  made  a  panic  step  toward  her — 
terror  and  cruelty  shone  in  his  eyes.  She  made  a 
spring  and  raced  for  the  stairs,  the  paper  held  to 
her  pounding  heart,  the  nurse's  veil  flying  from  her 
shoulders.  .  .  .  In  an  instant  she  stood  beside 
the  sleeping  servant  and  shook  him  by  the  arm. 

"Mr.  Romeyne!  Get  Mr.  Romeyne — quick, 
quick!" 


ADVENTURE  213 

He  was  not  gone  five  minutes,  but  Sydney  strung 
to  the  pitch  of  terror  unspeakable — kept  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  stairs.  Would  the  man  come  down  it? 
No.  When  Romeyne  appeared,  the  stillness  broke 
into  sudden  activity,  confusion,  sentences  begun,  not 
finished,  begun  again.  .  . 

"There  was  a  man!"     .     .     . 

"What  man?" 

"But  I  do  not  know — he  tried  to  take  the  paper 
from  me — he  looked  like  murder." 

"The  paper — you  mean  she  has  confessed?" 

They  were  standing  again  face  to  face  in  the" 
small  room  which  they  had  quitted  some  hours  be- 
fore. Romeyne  almost  snatched  the  confession  from 
her  hand  and  she  heard  him  give  a  stifled  groan  as 
his  eyes  ran  down  the  list  of  names. 

A  moment  later  ...  he  had  moved  to  the 
telephone — then  he  was  in  the  hall,  giving  instruc- 
tions to  a  footman.  She  could  hear  the  answer. 

"Very  good,  sir:  I'll  take  my  bicycle 

Sydney  found  her  way  to  a  chair.  She  felt  shaken 
and  weak,  so  laying  back  her  head,  she  merely 
waited.  The  house  moved  now,  pulsed;  doors 
banged,  steps  hurried  down  the  corridor.  Romeyne 
was  still  at  the  telephone.  Someone  knocked  and 
entered.  It  was  Morton  the  butler,  and  Sydney 
noticed  that  he  was  trembling. 

"We  went  to  Mr.  Belby's  room,  sir.  But  he  was 
not  there — he'd  shot  himself  sir,  just  outside  the 
dining-room  window." 

"Is  he ?" 

"He  is  dead,  sir." 

Romeyne  set  down  the  telephone  receiver. 

"Poor  devil,"  he  said,  and  then,  "Do  what  you 
can,  Morton:  I'll  be  there  in  a  few  minutes — but 
I  must  speak  to  his  Lordship  first, — yes,  operator 
— don't  they  answer?" 


214      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

He  was  back  again  at  the  telephone  before  the 
butler  left  the  room.  ...  So  the  man  had 
killed  himself,  had  he?  He  must  have  been  the 
secretary  from  whom  so  much  that  interested  Mr. 
Leo  had  come.  Had  she  not  heard  his  name  be- 
fore?  She  thought  vaguely  for  the  recollection  but 
failed  to  find  it.  She  could  not  seem  to  feel  the 
horror  as  she  ought  .  .  .  she  was  too  tired. 

But  when  Romeyne  finished  the  call  and  came  to- 
wards her,  she  stood  up  as  a  private  comes  to  atten- 
tion in  his  officer's  presence.  Her  face  quivered. 
Romeyne's  pupils  were  dilated  and  he  gathered  her 
icy  hands  into  his  own. 

"I  knew  it!  I  knew  you  were  wonderful!  What 
can  I  say — how  thank  you  for  this  night's/' work? 
Yes:  it  was  in  time — I  feel  sure  of  it — no  one  in 
the  world  but  you  could  ever  have  carried  it 
through." 

She  tried  to  reply,  but  she  was  overdone  and  for 
a  breath  the  room  spun  and  she  was  in  danger  of 
falling,  but  for  his  arm.  His  eyes  were  looking 
deep,  deep  into  her  own  ...  his  mouth  quiv- 
ered. What  wave  engulfed  her  at  his  touch — sweep- 
ing her  close  into  his  arms,  against  his  heart,  while 
his  voice  called  brokenly  upon  her  name?  Always, 
in  that  passionate  moment,  she  was  conscious  of 
novelty — of  bewilderment. 

A  sound  of  a  door  closing  upstairs. 
Steps  in  the  passage — the  whirling  room  steadied. 
Romeyne  released  her  and  she  saw  that  the  exulta- 
tion in  his  face  had  given  place  to  pain:  embarrass- 
ment. He  made  a  gesture  half  of  despair,  half  of 
dismissal,  and  she  instinctively  obeyed,  moving  to 
leave  the  room  just  as  Morton  limped  back  into 
it.  On  the  threshold  she  looked  back.  Romeyne 
stood  by  the  mantelpiece,  his  face  hidden  in  his 
hands.  The  telephone  bell  rang  loudly.  .  .  . 


BOOK  IV 
THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END 


215 


CHAPTER  XXX 

HUGH  EASTERLY,  passing  his  thin  hands  over  the 
wheels  of  his  chair,  moved  himself  into  the  shade 
of  the  giant  cedar  that  shaded  the  terrace.  The 
August  afternoon  was  full  of  warm  breeze  which 
seemed  to  exhaust  the  boy  more  than  actual  heat; 
and  he  put  his  head  back  on  the  cushion  with  a 
movement  of  restless  impatience.  Overhead,  an 
aeroplane  circled  in  the  sunshine,  humming,  and 
Hugh,  as  he  looked,  knew  just  how  it  felt  to  guide 
the  'bus  on  a  day  like  this — just  what  it  meant  to 
shut  off  power  and  slide  down  the  long  slopes  of 
air.  That's  what  he  himself  might  have  been  do- 
ing, this  very  afternoon  if — . 

Through  the  glass  door  of  the  morning  room  his 
mother  came  out  on  the  terrace  and  walked  towards 
him,  in  her  black  dress.  Before  his  injury,  Hugh 
had  not  been  given  to  noticing  things  about  his  par- 
ents, but  at  that  moment  she  seemed  to  him  very 
straight  and  imposing,  very  splendid  altogether, 
though  certainly  since  Tom's  death  her  hair  had 
grown  whiter  and  her  step  slower.  She  drew  her 
chair  near  to  his  in  the  shade  and  took  up  her  knit- 
ting. 

"Dad  come  yet?"     Hugh  asked. 

"I've  just  been  speaking  with  him  on  the  tele- 
phone," said  Lady  Easterly,  "he  will  be  here  for 
tea,  I  hope.  But  he's  very  much  put  out  because 
the  invaluable  Miss  Lea  has  broken  down  and  gone 
away  to  rest." 

"How  very  boring  for  him.  I  can  imagine  how 
he  hates  it.  I  thought  Miss  Lea  was  supposed  to 

217 


218      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

be  one  of  those  wonderful  Yankee  machines  that 
never  run  down." 

"On  the  contrary,  to  my  eye  the  girl  has  been 
looking  badly  for  some  time.  I  told  your  father 
so,  only  last  week,  but  he  would  not  listen  to  me. 
He's  very  dependent  on  Miss  Lea  and  says  she  is 
the  best  secretary  he  has  ever  had  and  of  course  he 
is  overworking  himself  as  well.  But  at  all  events, 
she  has  had  to  go — somewhere  into  the  country,  I 
believe,  for  a  fortnight  or  more." 

"Perhaps,"  Hugh  suggested  yawning,  "it  will 
force  him  to  rest  too." 

"That's  what  I  hoped.  .  .  .  But  at  the  mo- 
ment there  seems  to  be  something  on  and  he's  very 
much  upset.  ...  I  don't  think  he's  quite  been 
himself,  Hughie,  since  Hector  Menzies  . 
Well,  and  now  a  Minister  has  resigned  and  a  great 
many  rumours  are  flying  about  ...  he  said 
he  would  tell  us  more  when  he  came  home." 

"It  would  be  a  deal  better  for  the  nation  if  the 
jolly  lot  of  them  resigned,  I  think,"  was  Hugh's 
verdict. 

"Well,  you  know,  dear,"  said  Lady  Easterly 
mildly,  "most  of  us  don't  think  so. — There !  that's 
the  telephone  again?" 

She  hurried  into  the  house  and  it  was  ten  minutes 
before  she  reappeared. 

"That  was  Dad  once  more,"  she  began  looking 
troubled,  "he  won't  be  out  after  all,  until  tomor- 
row." 

"Did  you  ask  him  what  the  row  was  about?"  en- 
quired her  son. 

"Yes:  but  you  know  he  never  talks  about  such 
things  over  the  telephone.  But  he  15  put  out.  He 
tried  to  get  hold  of  Adrian,  and  Parker  tells  him 
that  Adrian  went  last  night  to  France." 

"Some  F.  O.  job,  I  suppose." 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          219 

"Quite  so:  but  your  father  doesn't  understand 
it.  He  said  Adrian  ought  not  to  be  absent  at  this 
time.  ...  It  appears  there  is  something  ser- 
ious, some  scandal  in  this  resignation.  He  spoke 
very  gravely,  and  of  course  he  complained  that  it 
was  frightfully  inconvenient  to  carry  on  wlithout 
Miss  Lea." 

"Damn  Miss  Lea,"  said  Hugh  violently;  "I  wish 
she  wasn't  an  American!" 

"But  my  dear  boy,  why?" 

"Oh,  mum,  because  I  do  think  they  are  behaving 
so  very  badly.  After  the  Lusitania,  we  all  thought 
that  they  would  do  something,  but  they  go  on  just 
the  same  filling  their  pockets  and  taking  kicks  from 
the  Kaiser.  People  of  our  blood  and  speaking  our 
language  —  and  thinking  only  of  the  dollars  they 
can  make!  It  has  made  me  simply  sick!" 

"I  agree — at  the  same  time  there  is  no  reason  at 
all  for  feeling  that  way  toward  Miss  Lea,"  pro- 
tested his  mother,  "especially  when  she  has  proved 
that  she  feels  just  as  we  do  about  it.  She  stays  in 
England  for  no  other  reason,  she  told  me  as  much. 
And  lots  of  nice  Americans  over  here  feel  the  same. 
You  haven't  seen  as  much  of  them  as  your  father 
and  I  have.  In  the  Red  Cross  and  all  that — why 
they're  wonderful.  Janey  told  me  that  when  Mrs. 
Willoughby  Kent  sent  a  request  to  New  York  for  a 
subscription  for  her  work  shop — making  those  pa- 
pier mache  moulds,  you  know,  for  facial  cases — 
they  cabled  her  a  thousand  pounds — like  that !  With- 
out even  a  question!" 

"I  don't  think  that  makes  it  a  bit  better." 

"We  don't  know  all  about  the  political  situation 
there,  either,  remember.  Things  in  the  States  are 
different — they've  a  very  large  foreign  population." 

"That's  why  I  don't  trust  any  of  'em.     Once  a 


220      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

Hun  always  a  Hun  and  once  an  American  always 
an  American." 

"Well,  but,  Hughie,  once  an  Englishman  always 
an  Englishman,  too,  I  hope!" 

Hugh  only  grunted.  He  had  these  sudden  irri- 
tations nowadays — caused  perhaps  by  the  neutrality 
of  the  United  States — perhaps  by  the  disobedience  of 
his  Aberdeen  terrier.  Any  opposition  caused  them. 
The  doctors  said  it  was  a  phase  of  his  nervous  condi- 
tion, that  it  would  pass  as  he  grew  stronger.  Ar- 
gument and  so  on  should  be  avoided. 

His  mother  glanced  at  him  in  concern.  There 
he  was,  after  all,  alive — and  though  the  face  was 
pinched  and  the  eyes  pain-darkened  and  the  wheeled 
chair  held  legs  almost  useless  still, — yet  he  was  there, 
he  was  alive  and  at  his  age  the  doctors  held  out 
hope  of  a  complete  recovery  with  time.  She  changed 
the  subject  and  although  his  replies  were  listless,  yet 
he  did  not  utter  any  further  fulminations  against 
the  Americans.  Lady  Easterly  had  rather  intended 
to  remind  him  of  what  he  owed  to  the  suggestion 
of  one  American  and  the  treatment  invented  by  a 
second — with  a  Hun  name,  too! — but  thought  bet- 
ter of  it.  Moreover,  she  had  a  leaden  feeling  that, 
in  Hugh's  opinion,  nervous  invalidism  in  a  wheeled 
chair  might  not  be  the  same  subject  for  congratu- 
lation as  it  seemed,  at  times,  to  his  mother. 

Shadows  lengthened  as  they  sat  together.  With 
the  tea-tray  and  in  the  wake  of  Smith  who  bore  it, 
Janey  appeared,  very  tired,  but  quite  cheerful,  after 
a  long  day  of  hospital  scrubbing.  She  brought  a 
newspaper,  wherein  the  Cabinet  Minister's  resigna- 
tion, for  that  issue,  took  precedence  even  of  the 
Somme  offensive.  Certainly,  there  were  a  great  many 
rumours  afloat  and  it  was  even  hinted,  as  Hugh  read 
aloud,  that  a  member  of  the  Minister's  own  family 
was  involved  in  his  fall — the  same  member  at  whose 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          221 

divorce  proceedings  a  year  ago,  the  presiding  Justice 
had  made,  from  the  Bench,  some  unusually  caustic 
comments.  Hugh  speculated  and  seemed  interested, 
and  even  Janey — who  knew  little  about  politics  and 
cared  less — asked  questions,  but  Lady  Easterly  did 
not  enlighten  them.  She  knew  about  the  girl  of 
course,  but  she  had  always  thought  it  a  horrible 
story. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

SYDNEY,  too,  read  about  the  resignation  of  a  Cab- 
inet Minister,  as  she  lay  out  in  the  fields  on  that 
same  soft  and  breezy  August  afternoon.  She  was 
still  living  in  the  strangest  bewilderment;  conscious 
only  of  a  profound  sense  of  illusion,  moving,  speak- 
ing, thinking  in  its  penumbra — as  a  person  who  has 
been  insensible  moves  and  speaks  before  the  full 
return  of  consciousness.  She  was  completely  dis- 
oriented: her  mind  occupied  with  certain  memories, 
visions,  ideas,  so  new,  so  poignant,  that  it  was  filled 
to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  Her  old  self 
seemed  pushed,  as  it  were,  to  the  door-step,  and  the 
door  shut.  There  was  another  occupant  within.  To 
a  girl  of  her  type,  the  upheaval  caused  by  sex  emo- 
tion is  far  greater,  because  it  has  not  been  waited  for,  ' 
expected,  taken  for  granted,  as  it  is  with  many  wo- 
men. Sydney  had  had  no  masculine  relations  in  her 
life  which  in  any  way  differed  from  feminine  rela- 
tions. Her  dreams  on  this  subject  had  been  very 
vague.  She  belonged  to  that  group  of  young  Ameri- 
cans who  make  a  cult  of  comradeship. — The  girls 
are  proud  of  being  "friends"  of  the  boys:  the 
boys  arc  proud  of  feeling  "no  nonsense,"  about  the 
girls.  Marriage  is  rather  assumed  to  be  an  exten- 
sion, qualitative  and  quantitative,  of  that  ideal. 

Nor  had  there  been  anything  in  Sydney's  exper- 
ience to  prepare  her  for  this  revelation.  Certainly, 
Eric  Violand's  half  sulky,  rebellious  affection  held 
no  enlightenment.  Her  friendship  with  Ashburn- 
ham  had  not  been  touched  with  emotion  at  all;  if  it 
had,  she  would  have  enjoyed  it  less.  In  regard  to  Ro- 

222 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          223 

meyne  there  had  been  a  long  and  subtle  prepara- 
tion of  hero-worship  and  admiration;  the  delicate 
flattery  of  his  appreciation,  the  melodrama  of  the 
moment,  the  task  which  she  had  performed  with 
him  and  for  him,  responsibility,  secrecy  shared  be- 
tween them,  strain,  hour,  touch,  passion.  The  tide 
that  had  swept  her  into  his  arms,  seemed  still,  to  her 
imagination  to  beat  and  to  harry  the  poor  fragments 
of  her  self-control.  But  if  she  felt  the  tossing  of 
these  broken  fragments  in  place  of  her  steadfast 
and  continuous  will,  what  about  Adrian?  She  had 
one  letter  from  him,  a  letter  showing  in  its  incohe- 
rence, its  pride  and  its  uncertainty,  the  humiliation 
of  a  man  who  knew  he  had  lost  control.  It  was  not 
a  letter  hoping  anything  or  asking  anything.  He 
took  upon  himself  all  the  blame  for  that  sudden  out- 
burst— "which,  from  one  placed  as  I  am  to  you, 
was  nothing  less  than  an  insult,"  and  he  craved  for- 
giveness. She  thought  too,  reading  between  the 
lines,  that  he  craved  oblivion. 

"I  refuse  the  responsibility  of  spoiling  your  life; 
mine  is  already  spoiled"  he  wrote;  and  again:  "I 
cannot  claim  that  I  feel  the  slightest  sense  of  obli- 
gation or  of  loyalty  toward  the  woman  who  bears 
my  name — but  I  cannot  pretend  either,  that  I  feel 
no  loyalty  toward  my  work,  toward  the  position  I 
hold  in  the  world.  You  are  not  one  of  the  women, 
nor  I  one  of  the  men — to  whom  passion  is  every- 
thing. At  such  a  time  as  die  present,  individual 
happiness  simply  must  not  count — renunciation  is 
a  matter  of  noblesse  oblige." 

She  knew  he  would  not  have  been  Adrian  Ro- 
meyne  if  he  had  not  seen  the  barrier  of  class,  of 
caste  and  of  tradition  which  lay  between  them.  Also 
she  knew, — she  had  been  more  than  a  year  in  Eng- 
land— that  it  was  not  marriage,  however  obtained, 
that  Adrian  meant  when  he  spoke  of  renunciation. 


224      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

Strange  it  was,  the  recurrent  thought  always,  that 
it  was  his  work  that  lay  between  them !  How  had 
she  changed  from  the  old  days!  What  would  her 
aunt,  Mr.  Hansell,  Elizabeth — have  thought?  It 
was  the  fact  of  marriage  alone  which  would  have 
counted  in  their  eyes;  and  she  had  moods  of  despe- 
rate humiliation  that  she  could  not  feel  as  they  did ; 
as  they  would  have  expected  her  to  feel. 

She  was  young  and  she  suffered;  the  revelation 
thrilled  her  soul;  passion  was  keen  within  her,  she 
suffered.  Adrian,  with  just  instinct  and  wisdom, 
had  written  the  truth  and  she  clung  to  that  truth. 
She  was  not  the  woman  nor  he  the  man  to  whom 
passion  was  everything.  Ambition  and  love  of  power 
were  the  ruling  forces  of  his  life;  mental  activity, 
independence,  order,  were  more  to  her  than  to  the 
majority  of  women.  The  only  companionship  which 
they  could  hope  for  was  one  bound  to  thwart  the  na- 
tures of  both.  Tolerant  as  his  world  was  of  evil, 
it  was  quite  intolerant  of  imprudence.  Whatever 
you  did  in  your  private  hours,  you  must  not  afficher 
yourself.  Being  the  creatures  they  were,  they  were 
certain  to  afficher  themselves,  and  his  career  would 
suffer.  "It  is  better  as  it  is!"  she  would  tell  herself; 
and  then  longed  fiercely  for  whatever  misery  life 
might  bring,  if  it  brought  only  love.  She  could  do 
nothing  as  she  lay  upon  the  grass,  but  pray  for  the 
passing  of  that  agitating  vision. 

She  tried  to  divert  herself  with  the  countryside, 
that  country,  which  for  centuries,  has  interpreted 
painting  and  vitalized  poetry.  Beautiful  it  was, 
though  drooping  as  it  had  not  drooped  for  a  thou- 
sand years.  The  empty  villages  seemed  to  await 
the  return  of  their  sons;  the  little  churches,  holding 
aloft  their  appealing  spires,  bore  on  their  walls  a 
shining  brass  tablet,  fixed  above  the  stiff  effigy  of  a 
Crusader,  to  witness  the  passing  of  his  descendant, 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          225 

a  Crusader  no  less  glorious.  On  the  outskirts,  chil- 
dren and  reservists  worked  at  their  allotments  in  the 
abundant  harvest.  In  every  field,  one  could  watch 
the  building  of  fat,  golden  ricks,  the  flocks  of 
crows  quarreling  over  the  stubble,  and  the  young 
Rosalinds  of  the  land  army  bending  to  their  tasks. 
The  "glory  of  the  garden"  was  but  dimmed;  and  for 
the  first  time  Sydney  seemed  to  feel  the  roots  of  her 
own  being  stretch  down  deep  into  its  soil.  From 
this  parcel  of  earth  she  drew  those  obscure  vital 
forces  which  alone  count  in  the  ultimate  destiny  of 
human  beings:  those  forces  of  race  and  nationality, 
of  hereditary  tendency  and  custom,  which  make  civ- 
ilization. 

The  thought  had  a  soothing  quality,  and  soothing 
also  it  was  to  drink  in  this  pure  soft  air,  watch  the 
slow  passing  of  sunshiny  hours  and  walk  about  the 
quiet  meadows,  while  she  strove  to  regain  the  self- 
control  and  security  of  mind,  that  had  been  so  vio- 
lently twitched  out  of  the  grasp.  She  tried  to  read, 
to  study,  but  with  less  success ;  books,  at  the  moment, 
had  lost  their  power. 

But  life,  though  its  pages  are  so  often  left  un- 
finished, has  a  way  of  adding  a  paragraph  later  on, 
putting  in  long  afterwards  a  detached  sentence,  so 
that  finis  to  an  incident  is  really  never  written.  Fate 
thus  threw  in  Sydney's  way  an  encounter  which 
would  have  been  purely  amusing,  if  her  whole  nature 
had  not  been  so  profoundly  stirred  and  tense  that  any 
touching  of  those  strings  brought  pain. 

She  had  been  strolling  through  the  village  to  which 
Long  Green  belonged  and  she  noticed  a  cyclist  stand- 
ing at  the  door  of  the  Cross  and  Keys.  Something 
about  his  figure,  which  was  strong  and  pudgy,  his  flat, 
round  face  and  sharp  eyes,  seemed  familiar — but 
only  when  he  came  forward  and  greeted  her  in  a  cor- 
dial, if  lisping  voice,  did  she  realize  it  was  none 


226      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

other  than  her  countryman,  Mr.  Gualtier  Delaplaine. 

"Why,  Miss  Lea !  Whoever  would  have  thought 
it  I  England  is  surely  the  most  amazing  island — and 
the  most  romantic!" 

"There's  no  romance  about  me,"  said  Sydney  smil- 
ing, "at  least,  at  the  moment,"  she  added. 

"Is  there  not?  Well,  I'm  not  at  all  sure — "  said 
Mr.  Delaplaine,  "Are  you  living  here?  I  didn't 
know  Sir  Thomas's  place  was  hereabouts." 

"It  isn't.    I  am  here  resting  at  a  farmhouse." 

"And  your  M.  P.  ?  How  does  he  get  along  with- 
out you?" 

"Quite  well,  I  assure  you.  But  you — are  you  still 
successfully  keeping  the  War  from  disturbing  your 
peace  of  mind?" 

There  was  just  that  delicate  chill  about  her  ques- 
tion which  he  remembered  and  remembered  also,  that 
he  had  decided  she  was  a  person  with  whom  it  was 
best  to  be  frank. 

"Not  so  successfully,"  he  observed,  tilting  his  bicy- 
cle inside  the  iron  fence  and  turning  so  as  to  fall  into 
step  beside  her,  "in  fact,  I  have  about  made  up  my 
mind  that  it  is  a  mistake  to  try."  Sydney  felt  her  dis- 
like of  the  man  somewhat  lessened  by  the  speech,  but 
she  was  by  no  means  convinced. 

"Really?    And  to  what  extent?" 

"To  the  extent,"  rejoined  Mr.  Delaplaine,  clasp- 
ing his  hands  behind  his  back  and  speaking  confidenti- 
ally, "that  I've  applied  for  a  job  in  the  munitions 

factory Oh  I've  changed,"  he  added  "quite  a 

little  since  I  talked  with  you.  At  one  time  I  thought 
of  going  home  to  the  States — but  then  I  felt  sure 
from  all  I  was  hearing  from  my  friends  there  it 
would  jar,  so  instead — but  listen,  are  you  busy?  Or 
may  I  walk  with  you  ?  Because  there's  a  great  deal  I 
have  to  say." 

Sydney  acquiesced.    She  was  reluctant,  but  curious 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          227 

as  to  what  this  strange  individual  might  have  in  his 
mind.  They  strolled  on  together,  leaving  the  road 
at  the  next  stile  and  crossing  the  field  into  the  shade 
of  a  wood.  Although  Mr.  Delaplaine  had  declared 
he  had  so  much  to  talk  about,  yet  he  apparently 
found  it  a  little  hard  to  begin. 

"Our  friends  the  Fredericks  seem  to  have  come  a 
most  awful  cropper,  haven't  they?"  he  said  at  last 
somewhat  abruptly.  "Apparently,  they  can't  even 
leave  their  place — Have  you  seen  Hilda  at  all?" 

"Not  at  all,"  she  answered  and  went  on  clearly 
and  slowly.  "It  became  so  very  plain,  you  see,  why 
they  had  made  friends  with  me — Sir  Jacob  made  so 
many  advances  and  attempts  beside  those  which  they 
had  made  through  you;  that  I  didn't  feel  as  I  should 
have  felt  to  real  friends  in  misfortune — I  felt  merely 
glad  to  be  rid  of  them !" 

Her  reply  seemed  to  embarrass  him  and  his  flat 
face  turned  red.  "What  do  you  mean — advances 
through  me?"  he  proffered  awkwardly. 

"I  think  you  forgot  that  I  was  a  compatriot,"  Syd- 
ney said  gently. 

"I  always  felt  that  Hilda  underestimated  you,"  he 
finally  acknowledged  with  candour. 

"Both  of  you — all  of  you — did  that." 

"But  you're  quite  wrong,  Miss  Lea,  when  you  say 
'all  of  you'  as  though  I  were  one  of  them.  I  never 
was.  Sir  Jacob  had  been  awfully  decent  to  me,  and 
its  true  that  but  for  him  when  the  War  came  and  the 
Aesthetic  Review  ceased  paying,  I'd  have  been  down 
and  out.  Hilda,  too,  she  was  a  good  friend  to  me. 
I  told  them,  and  kept  telling  them  I  thought^  they 
were  mistaken  about  you,  y'know;  and  I  didn't  be- 
lieve you  were  the  kind  they  thought,  but  I  couldn't 
refuse  just  telling  you  what  they  wanted  when  they 
asked  me.  ...  Of  course,  I  never  dreamed 


228      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

why,  and  I  never  thought  it  would  lead  to  all  this." 

"That  I  quite  believe,  Mr.  Delaplaine." 

"I  suppose  you  think  I'm  a  perfect  Hun,  and  God 
knows  what?" 

"No,"  she  answered,  "I  think  only  that,  like  too 
many  other  writing  people,  you've  refused  to  realize 
this  War  at  all — the  danger  we  are  all  in — we  Ameri- 
cans most  of  all." 

"I  never  was  pro-German !" 

Sydney  very  rarely  allowed  herself  the  luxury  of  a 
quotation,  but  in  this  case  she  knew  how  to  meet  Mr. 
Delaplaine  on*  his  own  ground. 

"Non  ragionam  di  lor"  she  murmured,  "ma 
guarda  e  passa." 

Mr.  Delaplaine  nodded,  almost  meekly,  and  they 
walked  on  for  a  few  yards  in  silence,  while  he  evi- 
dently digested  his  mortification.  That  this  was 
honest  she  could  not  doubt;  and  yet  she  was  by  no 
means  fundamentally  reassured. 

"Well,  I  only  want  you  to  know  that  I  knew  no- 
thing about  what  they  were  after,"  he  repeated,  as 
one  repeats  an  apology.  "I  could  see  nothing  dis- 
loyal about  the  Fredericks,  and  I  rather  supposed  I 
was  putting  a  good  thing  in  your  way." 

"Such  a  good  thing,  for  example,"  she  swiftly  and 
sweetly  answered,  "as  that  pistol  which  your  friend 
Mr.  Belby  put  to  his  ear  in  the  dawn?" 

This  observation  had  an  absolutely  stunning  effect 
on  Mr.  Gualtier  Delaplaine.  He  stopped  dead 
still  in  the  path,  turned  entirely  white,  and  when  he 
walked  on  again,  it  was  with  the  mechanical  and  ir- 
regular step  of  a  man  who  has  received  a  severe 
shock. 

"Miss  Lea,"  he  said  in  a  breathless  voice — "how, 
in  the  name  of  God,  did  you  come  to  know  that  about 
— about  poor  Belby?  I  could  have  sworn  that  not  a 
human  being  in  the  United  Kingdom  but  myself  knew 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          229 

the  manner  of  his  death!  It  has  been  kept  a  dead 
secret." 

"I  know.     I  was  there." 

"Where— where  he  died?" 

"Yes." 

He  muttered  a  "My  God!"  and  wiped  his  damp 
forehead.  His  companion  was  however  already  re- 
penting having  said  so  much,  and  for  other  reasons 
than  because  she  was  convinced  that  his  emotion  was 
sincere.  She  spoke  more  kindly. 

"I  ought  not  to  have  said  that  no  doubt.  Yes: 
I  feel  sure  that  you  had  no  part  nor  parcel  in  the 
doings  of  Mr.  Belby.  But  you  did  admire  him,  when 
you  should  have  known  better.  I'm  glad  you  are 
going  into  the  munition  factory,  Mr.  Delaplaine." 

"I  am  glad  myself,"  he  replied,  a  trifle  hoarsely. 
"If  I  had  my  doubt — this  talks  ends  it." 

They  had  come  in  sight  of  the  cottage  gate  by  this 
time  and  Sydney  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  Mr. 
Delaplaine  shook  it,  but  his  own  trembled. 

"I  am  inclined  to  think,1*  he  observed,  "that  you 
are  a  remarkable  young  woman  after  all  1" 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THREE  weeks  rest  and  change  of  air  accomplished 
their  purpose ;  her  nerves  steadied  once  more  and  she 
began  to  sleep  again.  A  letter  from  Sir  Thomas 
showing  his  real  need,  found  her  ready. 

After  all,  work  is  the  only  true  sedative.  The 
only  safety  and  health  for  the  soul  was  to  throw  one- 
self once  more  into  that  intricate  and  incessant  ma- 
chinery. .  .  .  She  knew  work  would  never  seem 
quite  the  same.  Life  was  full  of  these  unfinished 
pages,  and  there  were  times  when  Sydney  felt  that 
Destiny  was  turning  them  a  little  too  breathlessly. 

Sydney  arrived  at  Easterly  Park,  and  was  met  by 
Janey  with  the  dog-cart,  and  that  shy  friendliness 
which  was  so  particularly  Janey's,  and  which  also, 
joined  as  it  was  to  reticence,  made  her  the  most  Eng- 
lish member  of  her  family.  The  two  girls  were  de- 
cidedly curious  about  one  another.  Sydney,  wonder- 
ing if  Janey  ever  spoke  what  was  in  her  mind ;  Janey 
wondering  about  the  conversation  she  had  heard  that 
morning  between  her  parents. 

"I  suppose,"  her  mother  said,  "that  Miss  Lea, 
being  an  American,  will  dine  with  us?"  And  Janey 
had  been  rather  glad  when  her  father  answered,  "Oh 
yes,  of  course,  quite  so, — "  because  that  prevented 
Miss  Lea  from  having  her  dinner  on  a  tray  sent  up  to 
the  nursery,  as  her  governess  used  to  do.  At  the 
same  time,  she  had  been  a  little  perplexed  as  to  why 
being  an  American  made  such  a  change  in  these  estab- 
lished customs.  So  she  asked  Sydney  direct  and  cau- 
tious question  about  that  supposed  paradise  of  young 
women— the  United  States.  To  some  of  which  Syd- 

230 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          231 

ney,  laughing,  answered  that  she  could  not  pretend 
to  answer.  They  got  on  very  well  on  that  occasion, 
and  Janey  was  glad  the  secretary  had  arrived. 

Tea  was  in  progress  on  the  terrace,  when  several 
hours  later,  after  finishing  some  letters,  Miss  Lea 
came  out  a  little  shyly  and  joined  the  group.  Lady 
Easterly  smiled  at  her  over  her  knitting.  Janey  sat 
near  Hugh,  who,  bending  forward  in  his  chair,  was 
teaching  his  dog  to  beg  for  bits  of  cake.  Very  pleas- 
ant to  look  on  was  the  emerald  turf;  the  comfortable, 
low-windowed,  ivy-draped  house,  the  brilliant  flow- 
ers, the  dark  shade  of  the  great  cedar.  A  bluish  mist 
veiled  the  outlines  of  the  trees  on  the  edges  of  the 
park,  and  a  couple  of  swallows  did  what  Hugh  called 
"aeroplane  stunts,"  skimming  low  over  the  lawn. 
Sydney  drank  her  tea,  feeling  the  restful  leisure  of  it 
all.  In  her  white  dress  and  her  pale  face,  with  her 
dark  hair  and  darker  eyes,  she  herself  looked  like 
a  black  and  white  sketch  in  the  midst  of  all  that 
color. 

"Really,  the  girl  is  lovely."  Lady  Easterly  re- 
flected and  could  not  help  glancing,  somewhat  anx- 
iously, at  Hugh.  Presently  Sir  Thomas  came  out, 
waving  the  Evening  Standard  in  one  hand  and  the 
Westminster  Gazette  in  the  other,  and  they  saw  that 
he  had  good  newjs. 

/'The  D.  S.  O. !  Donald  has  the  D.  S.  O. !"  he 
cried  and  saw  the  color  deepen  in  his  daughter's 
cheeks.  Donald  was  the  young  Master  of  Lochiel, 
whose  interest  in  Janey  Easterly  had  recently  been 
rather  pointedly  ignored  by  her  parents,  because  they 
had  fear  in  their  hearts.  Everyone  in  the  family  was 
delighted  to  hear  of  Donald's  luck  and  Sir  Thomas 
read  aloud  the  notice  in  his  precise  voice,  with 
his  eye-glasses  very  far  down  on  the  end  of  his  nose. 

"It's  just  too  splendid,"  declared  his  wife,  but  her 
hand  sought  her  boy's  for  a  moment  and  in  that 


232      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

pressure  was  a  sympathetic  comprehension  which  he 
valued  the  more  because  she  showed  no  trace  of  it 
in  her  voice. 

"By  the  way,  I  heard  something  else  today  which 
is  not  yet  generally  known,"  remarked  Sir  Thomas. 
"Of  course  it  is  not  unexpected.  Adrian  is  to  be  in 
the  next  Honour's  List — he  is  to  have  a  Peerage.  I 
lunched  with  him  today  just  before  he  left  for  Scot- 
land." 

"Not  really?  How  very  interesting !  What  title 
will  he  take?"  asked  Lady  Easterly,  much  interested. 

"It  is  a  Barony,  I  believe,  and  he  will  be  Lord 
Waveney." 

"Why,  but  then,"  said  Hugh,  "he  will  have  to 
go  into  the  Lords.  Beastly  shame,  I  call  that — its 
the  back  shelf,  covered  with  dust." 

"Not  at  all — not  at  all!"  asserted  his  father 
warmly;  "the  Lords  have  been  the  only  active  cham- 
ber during  the  War.  It  is  ridiculous  the  way  you 
younger  men  talk  and  think  about  them." 

"Maybe,  but  it's  true,"  Hugh  rejoined  coolly,  help- 
ing himself  to  cake.  "I  believe  in  aristocracy,  you 
know,  Dad,  and  I  want  the  world  made  as  unsafe  for 
democracy  -as  possible — "  this  with  a  side-glance  at 
the  American  present — "but  the  aristocracy  I  want 
has  got  to  be  a  younger  and  more  active  body  than 
the  Lords.  I'm  truly  sorry  for  Adrian  and  I'm  sur- 
prised too.  No  doubt  they  put  him  where  they  think 
he'll  be  out  of  the  way." 

"The  present  Ministry  will  not  stay  in  power  for- 
ever. And  Adrian  has  always  had  the  confidence  of 
both  parties.  I  don't  agree  with  you  at  all  about 
shelving  him,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  "but  we  must  wait 
and  see." 

"Dad  has  become  the  perfect  Asquithian  lately," 
said  Hugh,  but  he  laughed  a  little  and  the  sound 
brought  relief  into  his  mother's  face.  If  only  he 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          233 

would  not  argue  with  his  father  1  She  put  her  knit- 
ting away  and  rose. 

"I  must  go  and  write  to  Adrian,"  said  she,  "also, 
I  suppose,  to  Lady  Waveney." 

"Lord,  how  she  will  lap  it  up,"  Hugh  chuckled — 
"Move  my  chair  into  the  shade  again,  mum,  will 
you?" 

She  complied,  shaking  her  head  at  him.  "You  do 
feel  stronger  today,  old  son,  don't  you?"  she  asked 
fondly. 

"I  feel  strong  enough  to  write  myself  to  Adrian 
and  urge  him  to  get  a  divorce,"  answered  Hugh 
flippantly.  "It  was  never  in  the  bargain  that  Leila 
should  be  a  peeress." 

Lady  Easterly  disappeared  into  the  house  and 
Janey,  murmuring  something  about  a  letter,  followed. 
Sir  Thomas  put  on  his  glasses  and  reopened  the  pa- 
per. Sydney,  from  her  chair,  watched  the  gyrating 
swallows  with  idle  intentness.  .  .  .  After  all, 
this  title  was  just  another  door  shut  between  them, 
making  it  easier  for  her  to  stay  on  the  oustide  of  any 
career  that  he  would  have  in  future.  She  repeated 
Hugh's  phrase  "the  back-shelf."  Perhaps  Adrian 
was  tired  and  the  back-shelf  appealed.  .  .  . 
Perhaps. 

"If  you  are  ready,  Miss  Lea,  I  should  like  to  get 
those  letters  off  by  this  post,"  came  Sir  Thomas's 
voice  and  Sydney  rose  obediently. 

Her  stay  at  Easterly  Park  lasted  a  week  and 
brought  certain  other  aspects  of  the  changed  country 
life  before  her  eyes.  Not  that  these  changes  were 
very  observable  there,  since  Sir  Thomas  was  a  rich 
man  and  his  house  was  neither  an  old  nor  an  incon- 
veniently large  one.  Except  in  the  matter  of  luxuries, 
therefore,  flowers  and  hot  houses  and  so  forth,  things 
at  Easterly  were  much  as  usual.  But  when  Janey 
took  her  off  on  a  bicycle  into  the  surrounding  country, 


234      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

then  Sydney  saw  how  the  stately  and  ordered  exis- 
tence which  had  been  for  centuries  the  envy  of  the 
world,  was  passing,  had  passed.  The  great  houses, 
in  vast  parks,  stood  untenanted,  save  where  the  Red 
Cross  floated  over  them  and  men  in  blue  bands 
limped  about  the  weedy  gardens,  or  up  and  down  the 
mossy  terraces.  Cattle  and  sheep  browsed  unre- 
buked  on  the  very  lawns,  while  an  aristocratic  white 
peacock  raised  a  shrill  protest.  Trees  lay  where 
they  fell,  walls  lay  where  they  fell,  gardens  remained 
weed-grown,  unplanted.  Within  doors,  in  a  few 
rooms,  some  grey-haired  straight-backed,  splendid 
woman,  fetched  and  carried,  and  worked,  in  frocks 
which  a  few  years  ago  her  own  cook  would  have  dis- 
dained. One  afternoon,  the  two  girls  turned  their 
bicycles  between  a  pair  of  high  ornamental  iron  gates 
and  pedalled  smoothly  along  an  avenue  which  to 
Sydney  semed,  in  a  vaguely  painful  way,  to  be  fami- 
liar. Suddenly,  they  came  upon  a  house,  which 
stretched  out  long  wings  into  white  arcaded  terraces 
with  tall  vases  on  them.  The  vases  overflowed  with 
scarlet  geraniums — and  Sydney  felt  for  an  instant 
as  though  her  heart  had  stopped  beating. 

They  alighted  from  their  bicycles  and  sat  by  the 
roadside;  Janey  was  a  little  concerned  at  her  com- 
panion's white  face.  Sydney  looked  long,  long  at  the 
house,  and  the  arcaded  terraces  and  at  the  vases 
which  seemed  to  be  filled  with  blood.  Then  they 
remounted  their  bicycles  and  rode  home,  Janey  quite 
triumphant  that  after  all  Miss  Lea  had  affirmed  of 
an  American  summer,  yet  she  should  be  so  plainly 
feeling  the  heat. 

That  afternoon  was  however  unusually  "close  and 
stuffy"  as  Lady  Easterly  said;  and  Hugh  felt  it  very 
much.  He  had  been  irritable,  excited  and  argumen- 
tative all  day,  and  his  mother  finally  felt  it  best  to 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          235 

leave  him  alone  in  his  chair,  where  Sydney  from  her 
window,  as  she  was  changing  her  dress,  saw  him. 
Something  in  his  weary  attitude  and  restless  move- 
ments filled  her  with  pity.  Poor  lad,  was  he  maimed 
and  paralyzed  in  soul?  Was  there  nothing  one 
could  do? 

A  few  minutes  later  she  was  standing  by  his  side, 
a  violin  case  in  her  hand.  Hugh  opened  his  eyes 
fretfully  and  they  did  not  brighten  when  he  saw  who 
it  was. 

"I  wondered,"  Sydney  asked  holding  out  that  vio- 
lin-case, "if  this  was  yours?" 

A  faint  interest  came  into  the  boy's  eyes. 

"That's  mine  right  enough,"  he  said,  not  very 
pleasantly,  "where  did  you  get  it?" 

"It  was  in  the  cupboard  of  my  room.  I  wondered 
if  you'd  mind,"  she  went  on  briskly,  "showing  me 
something  about  the  E-string — I  began  to  fiddle  a 
little  some  years  ago,  but  I  will  have  forgotten  it 
all  by  now." 

Half  an  hour  later,  Lady  Easterly  heard  the 
faint,  familiar  sound  of  one  of  Hugh's  favorite  airs, 
and  looked  out  in  surprise.  He  sat  alone  in  his 
wheeled  chair  and  his  head  was  bent  happily  over  the 
violin.  When  she  joined  him,  a  little  later,  she  saw 
with  relief  that  his  face  was  full  of  peace. 

"Where  did  you  find  your  fiddle,  dear  boy?"  she 
asked.  "I  had  forgotten  it." 

"Oh,  Miss  Lea  found  it  somewhere  and  brought 

it  out  here  to  ask  me  something. — Look  here,  mum," 

he  suggested,  "couldn't  you  get  me  that  teacher  who 

•used  to  be  at  St.  Albans?    I  believe  I'd  take  it  up 

again  a  bit.     It  would  be  something  to  do." 

"No  doubt  I  could — I'll  find  out  at  once — that  is 
if  you  think  you  are  strong  enough — "  she  answered 
gratified. 


236      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

"Oh  well,  if  I'm  not,  as  Miss  Lea  said,  I  can  stop 
whenever  I  like,"  replied  Hugh  tranquilly  while  his 
bow  drew  out  long  and  comforting  harmonies.  "I'll 
not  be  so  cross  if  I  have  something  to  do,  mum,"  he 
told  his  mother,  and  she  assented. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

ROMEYNE  remained  in  France  and  Switzerland  for 
nearly  a  month.  He  was  very  busy;  he  went  from 
Paris  to  Tours  and  from  Tours  to  Berne;  his  tasks 
took  him  as  far  as  possible  from  the  Front  and  yet 
it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  roaring  of  the  guns  was 
never  out  of  his  ears.  In  his  talks  with  this  man  and 
with  that,  he  became  constantly  called  upon  to  deal 
with  the  situation  created  by  an  apparent  military 
deadlock  and  by  a  series  of  diplomatic  entanglements, 
complex  beyond  precedent.  At  these  he  laboured, 
not  without  result,  but  all  the  while  his  mind  re- 
mained cool,  untouched,  and  not  very  hopeful.  His 
judgment  retained  its  clarity;  and  on  the  long  journey 
homeward  his  generalizations  and  deductions  fol- 
lowed one  another  with  their  usual  accuracy  and 
force.  Sitting  in  the  slow,  French  train,  with  his  ci- 
gar, his  eyes  following  mechanically  the  stiff  rows  of 
poplars  and  the  never  ending  line  of  camps,  his  mind 
gave  steady  consideration  to  the  vital  problems  con- 
fronting his  own  country  in  its  passage  toward  bu- 
reaucracy; while  his  power  of  reflection — so  rare 
during  those  hectic  days  of  the  Somme — enabled  him 
to  look  forward  as  well  as  back. 

The  English  system,  superb  in  its  capacity  for  the 
slow  building  of  empire,  had  never  been  well  fitted 
to  cope  suddenly  with  such  a  crisis,  involving  its  very 
existence.  What  had  been  in  the  first  months  of  the 
War  the  desparate  struggle  of  a  few  individuals  to 
handle  the  Day  of  Judgment,  had,  by  1916,  deve- 
loped into  an  equally  desperate  struggle  to  prevent 
all  action  from  being  stifled  by  the  sheer  numbers  of 

237 


238      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

people  required  to  perform  it.  That  small  heroic 
band  of  civilian  men  and  women,  who  from  August 
to  December  1914,  had,  by  the  sheer,  dogged  per- 
sistency of  their  effort,  acted  as  barriers  against  the 
crushing  weight  of  disaster — was  no  longer  there. 
By  their  sacrifices  they  had  created  energy  and  sys- 
tem out  of  chaos ;  they  had  accomplished  the  impos- 
sible as  England  has  so  often  accomplished  it.  From 
their  single  effort  had  sprung  those  Committees  and 
sub-Committees — a  pullulating  mass  of  the  untrained, 
who  could  not  make  up  in  zeal  what  they  lacked  in 
intelligence.  To  Romeyne's  mind  the  body  politic 
seemed  to  lie  like  some  huge  giant,  bound  by  pygmies, 
and  buried  under  a  steadily  drifting  accumulation 
of  data.  From  beneath  an  immense  heap  of  records, 
forms  and  requisitions,  the  giant  made  occasional 
spasmodic  convulsions,  which  resulted  in  action;  but 
usually  he  lay  inert,  his  movements  but  faintly  dis- 
cerned, if  discerned  at  all.  At  this  spectacle  the  Na- 
tion gazed,  respectful  if  depressed,  while  only  the 
Army  and  "Punch"  showed  impatience.  The  gen- 
eral effect  of  such  bureaucratic  complexity  and  mul- 
tiplication of  powers  was  to  bewilder  the  well 
intentioned  and  furnish  the  incompetent  with  fresh 
justification  for  their  incompetency.  No  man  could 
possibly  know  all  the  people  who  were  in  all  the  other 
departments,  and  some  took  pride  in  not  knowing,  in 
trying  to  run  what  was  essentially  a  cooperative  busi- 
ness without  any  attempt  at  cooperation. 
At  this  point  in  his  reflections  Romeyne  sighed: — but 
the  difficulties  remained  in  his  mind,  so  that  when 
he  lunched,  the  day  after  his  return  with  his  friend 
Easterly  at  the  Club — ,  he  gave  that  further  form 
and  expansion  to  his  ideas  which  is  always  to  be 
gained  from  a  contact  with  a  sympathetic  listener. 
Leaning  back  in  his  chair  he  discussed,  in  measured 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          239 

terms  as  his  way  was,  the  new  aspect  which  his  jour- 
ney lent  to  things  at  hand. 

"The  Government?"  he  said,  in  answer  to  his 
friend's  question — "Oh,  so  far  as  I  can  see  they  are 
sliding  to  dissolution  down  the  slope  of  their  own  in- 
decisions. ..  *  .  You  know  how  it  has  bejen. 

.  When  in  doubt  create  a  new  Department: 
and  each  one  of  these  Departments  seems  to  contra- 
dict and  interfere  with  the  operation  of  some  other. 

.  There's  a  Ministry  of  Information  to  ac- 
quire knowledge  and  to  withhold  it  from  the  Ministry 
of  Propaganda,  who  were  created  to  make  use  of  it. 

.  There's  a  Department  to  stimulate  Food 
Production  and  a  Department  to  regulate  prices,  so 
as  to  prevent  that  stimulus  from  taking  effect.  You 
think  I  am  exaggerating?  By  no  means!  There's 
the  Committee  to  induce  the  Public  to  invest  in  War 
Bonds,  and  the  count&n-Committee  on  Taxation, 
which  is  careful  to  see  that  the  Public  shall  have  no 
money  to  invest!  You  have  seen  it  in  action." 

"I  have  indeed,"  assented  Sir  Thomas  ruefully; 
and  Romeyne,  half  like  a  man  talking  to  himself, 
continued  to  analyze  the  situation. 

"Besides  the  automatic  check  which  these  Depart- 
ments tend  to  impose,  the  one  upon  the  other,  there 
has  grown  up  an  indefinite  hostility  between  them. 

.  At  dinner  at  the  Welden's,  the  week  before 
I  left  for  France — she  said  that  England  reminded 
her  of  a  house  where  the  cook  will  not  speak  to  the 
butler  and  the  housemaids  are  at  loggerheads  .  .  . 
because  if  one  Department  grants  a  permit  for  any 
purpose,  then  the  next  Department  will  immediately 
revoke  that  permit,  if  only  to  demonstrate  its  own 
importance !" 

"Very  acute,  Lady  Welden  always  is — but  rather 
too  critical  for  these  times,  in  my  opinion,"  said  Sir 
Thomas. 


24o     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

"She  had  my  sympathy — she  had  my  sympathy," 
rejoined  Romeyne,  with  more  personal  earnestness 
and  less  aloofness  than  was  his  habit.  "You  see, 
Easterly, — there  are  dangers  which  you  fellows  in 
the  House  fail  to  realize.  Procedure  has  become 
complicated  just  when  it  ought  to  have  been  simpli- 
fied. You  have  no  idea  how  the  City  feels  it — how 
the  manufacturer  feels  it,  how  the  whole  question  of 
raw  materials,  of  munitions,  is  hampered  by  it.  For 
example,"  he  settled  himself  deeper  into  his  chair — 
"this  is  what  I  heard  yesterday  at  Storey's  Gate.  If 
the  High  Explosive  Department  needs  to  purchase 
some  raw  material,  from  the  States,  let  us  say;  first, 
its  experts  must  convince  the  Ministry  of  Munitions 
and  the  War  Department  of  the  necessity,  then  the 
censorship  must  be  argued  with  in  order  that  the 
cables  concerning  this  transaction  should  not  be  drop- 
ped into  the  waste-paper  basket  as  being  the  machin- 
ation of  an  unscrupulous  neutral!  If  an  agent  be 
sent  over  to  complete  the  purchase,  his  credentials 
cannot  be  too  elaborately  worded  or  he  will  be  held 
up  on  landing  while  the  Alien  Officer  and  the  Port 
Officer  discuss  whether  a  letter  declaring  that  he  may 
land,  means  that  he  should  land.  Weeks  pass :  the  stuff 
is  ready  to  be  shipped — if  the  Ministry  of  Shipping 
can  be  persuaded  to  grant  a  permit — and  finally,  when 
it  arrives  the  War  Trade  Department  is  so  terrified  by 
its  scientific  name,  that  it  is  promptly  refused  admit- 
tance to  the  country!  Meanwhile,  ...  the 
German  guns  are  shooting  it — or  something  better 
still  for  the  purpose — at  Middleton,  in  France." 

"This  is  appalling,"  said  Sir  Thomas  and  Ro- 
meyne shrugged  assent. 

"That's  why  I  am  going  to  take  a  rest  in  Scot- 
land," he  remarked,  "but  I  had  to  have  my  grumble 
out  first." 

"If  we  go  on  like  that,  we  shall  lose  the  War.'* 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          241 

"That  is  not  a  possible  phrase  for  England,  my 
dear  chap.  Every  man  at  the  head  of  these  multi- 
farious monuments  of  bureaucratic  red-tape  has,  like 
yourself,  a  son  at  the  Front — or  a  son  who  will  not 
return  from  the  Front.  With  all  our  faults  of  sys- 
tem, there  is  no  forgetting  the  fact,  and  where  I 
have  been  on  the  Continent  I  was  still  more  struck 
with  the  force  of  our  invaluable  national  lack  of  im- 
agination. When  the  French  and  Italian  nerves  are 
quivering  with  the  possibilities  of  German  success — 
we  thank  God !  never  admit  it.  ...  But  must 
you  be  off?" 

"I've  just  time  to  catch  my  train  I  fear.  Miss  Lea 
broke  down  a  month  ago  and  I've  been  carrying  on 
without  anyone — she's  back  again  and  is  to  arrive  at 
Easterly  today — so  I've  much  work." 

"Ah?"  said  Adrian  vaguely;  and  bade  his  friend 
farewell.  He  sat  for  a  few  moments  after  Easterly's 
departure,  preoccupied  with  the  effort  to  close  again 
the  door  of  his  consciousness — which  a  name  had 
opened.  That  power  of  will,  which  enabled  him  to 
live,  as  he  put  it,  in  water-tight  compartments,  had 
never  been  more  valuable.  In  these  days  he  managed 
to  inhabit  with  comfort  only  the  office  part  of  him — 
to  exist  wholly  in  that  bare,  cold,  business-like  apart- 
ment of  his  official  position,  with  its  rather  depressing 
outlook.  Another  door,  into  the  richer  quarters  of 
life,  must  be  kept  shut  at  all  hazards. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

SYDNEY  returned  to  London  after  the  week  at 
Easterly  Park  with  steadiness  regained.  The  inci- 
dent which  had  meant  so  much  in  her  life  seemed 
closed,  yet  she  had  the  feeling  that  this  was  only 
seeming:  the  future  would  determine.  Such  service 
as  she  had  rendered  to  the  Empire  is  not  one  that  can 
be  recognized;  she  had  joined  for  that  brief  space  a 
band  of  heroes  who  toil  in  darkness  and  are  never 
thanked;  and  the  hand-clasp  which  Sir  Thomas  gave 
her,  with  a  few  mumbled  words,  was  more  than  most 
of  them  receive.  Sometimes  she  wondered  half- 
whimsically,  half-bitterly,  what  he  would  have 
thought  had  he  known  all!  Her  reward  lay  in  a 
sense  of  his  complete  confidence  in  her  work,  in  the 
increased  dignity  of  her  position,  and  the  knowledge 
that  in  a  crisis,  so  much  had  depended  upon  her.  For 
the  rest,  the  affair  could  not  be  talked  of,  she  must 
hear  in  silence  the  vague  gossip,  the  rumours,  which 
clung  about  the  political  downfall  of  a  great  family, 
whose  tragedy  she  had  witnessed;  whose  pain  was 
bound  up  with  her  own. 

She  was  very  much  alone  that  autumn.  Sir  Thomas 
did  not  come  up  every  day  and  Miss  Violand  was 
making  her  September  visits  in  Yorkshire.  The  Pem- 
ber  Chynes  and  Cairds  too,  were  out  of  town.  There 
was  no  lack  of  work,  but  she  could'  do  it  at  her  own 
hours.  Thus  she  had  more  leisure  to  note  the  changes 
that  were  taking  place  in  the  world  around  her. 

By  the  autumn  of  1916,  the  War  had  settled 
upon  London  like  some  monstrous  growth,  spread  in 
all  directions,  affecting  all  districts;  swallowing  up 

242 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          243 

vast  blocks  of  building;  choking  the  dry  bed  of  the 
lake  in  St.  James'  Park  with  a  fungus  of  concrete 
offices;,  covering  the  turf  of  squares  with  huts;  de- 
vouring overnight  whole  rows  of  private  houses; 
breaking  down  the  economic  tissues  of  trade  and  ab- 
sorbing its  vitality;  turning  that  city  of  eight  million 
inhabitants  into  one  single  factory  and  that  factory 
but  one  of  a  thousand  such  factories,  in  the  most 
gigantic  business  enterprise  that  the  world  has  ever 
known.  For  the  first  years,  the  streets  had  retained 
their  look  of  solid  power  and  of  immutable  wealth — 
their  air  of  indescribable  permanency,  which  is  Lon- 
don's pride,  and  though  the  current  that  poured 
through  them  had  changed  its  tint  to  khaki  brown, 
there  seemed  to  be  no  lessening  in  volume.  Then  the 
lights  began  to  be  withdrawn;  after  the  first  raids,  the 
town  became  at  dusk  a  place  of  mysterious  blue  dark- 
ness pierced  with  dimmed  taxi-lamps;  a  cloud  of  hur- 
rying shadows,  lit  only  by  the  bewildered  stars  or  by 
the  guardian  search-light,  like  a  sword  in  the  hand  of 
an  arch-angel.  About  this  time,  especially  in  the 
Parks,  appeared  the  hospital  blue,  always  recalling 
the  hue  of  the  Madonna's  robe  in  some  primitive 
Italian  painting.  Next,  the  uniformity,  the  stolidity 
of  the  streets  began  to  give  way.  For  a  long  time  the 
populace  had  ceased  to  notice  the  woman  in  uniform, 
just  as  they  ceased  to  notice  the  trained  nurse,  but 
now  they  never  even  turned  to  look  at  the  trousered 
woman.  Girls  with  brown  cheeks,  short  hair,  strong 
straight  legs,  whirled  deftly  to  the  curb  huge  vans 
full  of  precious  war  supplies  and  emptied  them  of 
their  contents.  The  neat  chauffeuse  passed  by,  run- 
ning a  Government  car;  or  the  tall  girl  footman  stood 
by  the  carriage  door,  her  bright  hair  coiled  under  her 
high  cockaded  hat. 

When  the  khaki  began  to  diminish  on  Piccadilly 
other  Allied  uniforms  replaced  its  tan — the  French 


244      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

officer,  with  his  pale  blue  cloth  and  dashing  air;  the 
poilu,  small,  smiling,  soldier-like.  Bearded  Russians, 
Serbians,  Montenegrins,  Italians,  wearing  their 
graceful  grey-green  cloaks,  filled  War  Department 
cars  or  jostled  privates  in  uniform,  among  the  crowds. 
Colonial  troops  were  everywhere;  huge  Canadians, 
Australians,  New  Zealanders,  marked  with  harlequin 
spots  of  colour — sprawled  on  the  grass  in  company 
with  young  women,  wearing  white  boots.  Ambu- 
lances, motor-lorries,  motor-bicycles,  tore  up  Park 
Lane.  The  royal  equipages  passed  by,  carrying  the 
wounded  for  an  outing  or  bearing  the  King,  the 
Queen,  or  the  Queen  mother,  to  the  conscientious 
performance  of  their  duties  in  hospitals  and  camps. 
The  crowd,  seemingly  apathetic  to  this  spectacle, 
looked  dully  on  Royalty,  but  was  roused  to  interest 
by  foreign  notabilities.  The  native  Indian  chieftains, 
who  wore  their  khaki  with  a  difference,  were  always 
sure  of  a  gallery;  and  there  a  group  invariably  gath- 
ered to  watch  Sir  Pertab  Singh — that  splendid  war- 
rior— as  he  cantered  his  chestnut  in  the  Row,  his 
turban  end  streaming  in  the  wind. 

All  this  formed  a  pageant  in  variety  seldom 
equalled  and  in  size  surely  never  surpassed  in  history. 
Special  occasions  called  forth  special  colour;  flags  flut- 
tered overhead ;  women  in  brilliant  dress  sold  trinkets 
on  the  pavement.  If  at  first  sight  this  seemed  a 
pageant  of  empire,  of  rejoicing  even,  one  had  but  to 
move  in  the  crowd,  to  note  their  expression  of  rest- 
less excitement  and  to  see  how  strain  or  loss  had  dark- 
ened their  eyes  with  its  purple  shadow.  Like  the 
pageantry  of  the  New  England  hillsides  in  autumn, 
marking  the  passage  of  the  year — this  too,  was  a 
pageantry  of  change  and  death,  and  in  the  shifting 
crowds,  like  blown  leaves,  as  in  their  blaze  of  colour, 
one  marked  the  end  of  an  era,  the  passing  of  a  world. 

Then    the   sky   began    to    change.     ...     To 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          245 

Sydney  this  change  seemed  the  most  awful,  the  most 
significant  of  all.  That  man's  rage  should  challenge 
and  defile  the  very  face  of  heaven,  the  divinity  which, 
for  unnumbered  centuries  had  bent  above  him  its  eter- 
nal peace,  which  his  curses  had  never  moved,  which 
his  prayers  had  never  reached,  which  had  been  the 
very  symbol  of  inaccessible  immutability.  Now  it  had 
become  the  animated  and  terrible  medium  of  death, 
full  of  malign  activities.  Against  the  crescent  moon, 
that  sinister  goddess,  women  drew  the  blinds  with 
a  shudder,  holding  their  children  close  lest  her  rays, 
falling  on  them,  should  cast  on  them  her  ancient 
spell.  Men,  who  in  all  their  trials  had  lifted  up 
hearts  and  eyes  to  heaven,  now  cowered  under  its 
mysterious  betrayal. 

The  sky  filled  with  strange  movement. 
From  the  first  months  of  War,  aeroplanes  had  filled 
the  summer  days  with  their  ceaseless  humming.  Each 
morning  now,  two  or  three,  great,  round  observation 
balloons  drifted  over  London  from  south  to  north, 
gilded  by  the  sunshine  into  delicate,  fantastic  bubbles. 
A  dirigible,  a  long,  sinister,  silvery  thing  with  clatter- 
ing engines,  dodged  among  the  chimney-pots.  Always 
on  the  horizon,  four  or  five  sausage  balloons  hung  at 
the  oddest  angles,  while  now  and  again  in  some  re- 
mote quarter  of  the  Park,  one  came  upon  them  at 
rest  in  their  lairs,  two  or  three  perhaps  squatting 
thereon,  like  big,  tan-coloured  elephants,  quiet  in 
sleep.  .  .  .  Did  one  for  a  space  forget  these  things, 
one  was  sure  to  come  upon  high  fences  and  patrolling 
sentries,  guarding  from  view  London's  defences 
newly  erected  against  the  terror  which  flieth  by  night. 
Vague,  distant  explosions  shook  the  air,  followed  by 
the  thin  notes  of  a  bugle.  .  .  .  This  was  by  day, 
while  at  night,  there  was  the  ominous  darkness. 
Surely,  mankind  had  lost  the  sky  forever  .  .  . 
even  although  it  had  revealed  a  new  and  strange 


246     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

beauty.  One  night,  Sydney  was  rewarded  by  a  sight 
well-nigh  miraculous — for  she  watched  the  search- 
lights seeking  to  and  fro  for  a  patrolling  aero- 
plane— .  When  their  rays  found  and  enveloped  it — 
there  it  hung  in  the  heaven,  sparkling  all  over  like 
some  golden  bee — and  she  drew  breath  sharply  that 
such  passionate  beauty  should  grow  out  of  evil  cruelty. 

Her  mind,  remembering  past  things,  travelled  back 
over  the  centuries  in  quest  of  comparisons — and 
found  them  not.  Picture  after  picture  might  unroll 
itself — of  battle  and  siege  and  sack — but  these,  at 
the  worst,  had  never  lacked  the  peace  of  nature. 
How  could  man  have  risen  to  any  achievement,  had 
he  not  felt  the  secure  heaven  stretched  over  him — be. 
neath  which  his  weakness  seemed  so  natural — which 
ever  remained  pure  and  untouched  from  his  iniquity? 
The  very  worst  the  medieval  imagination  could  do 
had  not  defiled  the  symbolism  of  the  universe,  had 
not  changed  the  music  of  the  spheres  to  this  daily 
and  nightly  hum  of  death.  Even  Dante  had  come 
forth  from  his  dreadful  pilgrimage  once  more  to  be- 
hold the  stars.  Surely,  the  primal  curse  had  never  till 
now  been  fulfilled. 

One  mild  golden  afternoon,  as  she  rested  awhile 
on  a  bench  near  Stanhope  Gate — a  van  stopped  near- 
by, and  three  soldiers,  alighting,  began  to  release 
some  flocks  of  carrier-pigeons.  The  birds  were  con- 
fined in  shallow  baskets  and  when  these  were  opened, 
their  occupants  crowded  to  the  edge,  paused,  pecking 
and  glancing,  then  spread  their  wings,  rose.  The 
flock  circled  about  as  if  seeking  some  mysterious  trail 
and  moved  with  one  accord  now  soaring  up  into  the 
sunlight  and  above  the  trees,  now  swooping  down 
almost  on  the  heads  of  the  crowd.  Always  each  time 
it  rose  a  little  higher,  a  little  further  into  the  sky, 
beyond  the  roofs.  Then  the  instant  came  when  in- 
stinct took  the  helm— the  entire  flock,  as  one  bird, 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END         247 

wheeled,  darted,  disappeared.  .  .  .  Sydney  liked 
to  think  of  the  gallant  creatures,  soaring  straight- 
away across  the  fields  and  woods,  stayed  neither  by 
gun-fire,  nor  foul,  factory  smoke,  nor  poison  gases, — 
"unhasting,  unresting — "  swift  to  their  home. 

She  questioned  the  soldiers  in  charge,  who  told  her 
that  these  were  young  birds,  not  yet  fully  trained,  but 
given  a  systematic  series  of  flights,  each  one  longer 
than  the  last.  When  the  final  flock  had  flashed  away 
and  vanished,  she  noticed  that  one  bird  had  been 
left  behind.  Bewildered,  he  had  not  taken  flight  with 
the  others,  but  had  turned  back  into  the  shelter  of  the 
cage.  The  soldier,  pulled  the  young  bird  out  and 
held  it  kindly,  soothing  it,  stroking  its  wings.  "E's 
just  a  bit  afryde,"  said  the  boy  grinning,  "but  e's  a 
fine  bird,  e'  is!" 

Such  a  still,  sunny  afternoon  it  was.  ...  As 
Sydney  walked  slowly  homeward,  the  dull,  yellowing 
leaves  drifted  down  on  her  head  and  brought  irresis- 
tibly before  her  inner  vision  the  glory  of  the  New 
England  autumn.  Dreamily,  the  pigeons  in  flight 
moved  through  that  vision — spreading  their  wings, 
darting  through  the  splendid  forests — going  home. 
Her  heart  gave  a  sudden  beat  of  longing;  she  seemed 
to  behold  the  sea  and  the  great  westering  ships,  with 
their  prows  turned  homeward. 

As  she  came  in  sight  of  her  own  front-door,  she 
saw  that  there  was  a  woman  in  uniform  standing  on 
the  step, — quite  an  unfamiliar  uniform,  dark  blue 
with  touches  of  crimson  and  a  soft,  jaunty  little  cap. 
But  was  the  wearer  unfamiliar?  Suddenly  Sydney 
gasped,  and  began  to  run.  She  ran  wildly  down  the 
sedate  Mayfair  Street  and  when  the  uniform  turned 
at  her  hurrying  step — she  cried  out: 

"Oh  Bess!  Oh  Bess!" 

It  was  indeed  Elizabeth,  smiling,  unruffled,  com- 
petent as  of  yore,  her  glance  possibly  a  little  more 


248      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

certain,  her  mouth  even  firmer.  They  held  one  an- 
other like  a  couple  of  children ;  they  laughed  together; 
and  Elizabeth  kept  repeating  that  she  hoped  her 
friend  liked  the  surprise.  She  would  have  written, 
of  course,  but  passports  were  so  difficult  and  uncer- 
tain, and  sailing  a  matter  of  doubt  until  the  very  last 
moment.  .  .  .  They  went  in  together — Giddy, 
much  impressed  by  Elizabeth's  uniform,  gave  her 
welcome  as  if  she  had  been  an  old  friend  of  the  family 
— and  they  talked  and  talked  together  until  long  after 
nightfall. 

Such  a  wonderful  Elizabeth!  Her  friend  had 
hardly  been  prepared  for  the  change  by  her  letters, 
although  these  had  lately  held  a  note  of  doubt  and 
even  of  restlessness.  There  had  been  suggestions  of  a 
great  current  moving  Elizabeth,  with  other  American 
youth,  in  the  direction  of  suffering  and  those  vital 
tasks  which  it  creates.  Sydney  recalled  sentences  of 
doubt  regarding  neutrality,  regarding  one's  personal 
responsibility  toward  Belgium,  toward  France — and 
she  remembered  feeling  glad  as  she  read.  But  there 
was  nothing  doubtful  about  this  Elizabeth — there 
was  rather  a  fundamental  certitude  concerning  her- 
self, her  mission  and  the  whole  United  States.  From 
the  most  conscientious  of  neutrals,  Elizabeth  had  be- 
come the  most  aggressive  of  pro-Allies.  Her  mind 
lived  in  a  large,  well-stocked  apartment  filled  with 
new  opinions  in  packages,  and  entirely  oblivious  of 
any  room  which  it  may  previously  have  occupied. 
She  selected  these  packages  and  thrust  them  at  you, 
exactly  as  she  had  done  with  earlier  ones,  such  as  the 
Monroe  Doctrine,  the  ideal  of  Presidential  neutrality 
and  the  duty  of  being  too  proud  to  fight.  She  was 
now  primed  with  Lord  Bryce's  report  and  the  Lusi- 
'tanla  medal;  so  that  Sydney  was  seized  with  a  wild 
desire  to  laugh. 

As  to  France — no  words  could  describe  the  com- 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END         249 

placency,  the  affectionate  patronage  of  Elizabeth's 
attitude  toward  France.  There  was  nothing  ap- 
parently in  the  soul  of  France  concealed  from  her. 
It  mattered  little  that  her  previous  estimate  of  the 
country  was  one  where  disapproval  struggled  with 
admiration  for  a  culture  of  which  she  understood 
nothing  except  its  value  to  certain  important  minds. 
All  that  had  now  quite  vanished,  and  the  suffering 
of  France  had  given  her  a  claim  upon  Elizabeth — an 
actual  claim.  Elizabeth  felt  that  she  understood 
France — particularly  since  having  passed  through  it 
in  1914.  She  knew  all  about  the  beauty  of  French 
family  life;  the  custom  of  the  dot;  the  advisability  of 
light  wines;  and  "our  obligations  to  Lafayette."  When 
she  spoke  of  France,  her  manner  was  maternal. 

She  had  joined  a  college  unit  of  the  Red  Cross, 
formed  three  months  earlier  with  a  view  of  engaging 
in  reconstruction  work.  Just  what  this  plan  really  in- 
volved Elizabeth  was  not  yet  clear,  but  both  her  abili- 
ties and  temperament  assured  her  an  important  place 
therein,  and  her  absorbed,  afairee  manner  testified  to 
the  spirit  she  brought  to  it.  Her  soul  seemed  to  have 
put  on  uniform  as  well  as  her  body.  After  their  first 
greetings,  she  surveyed  her  friend  with  a  shade  of  dis- 
appointment and  remarked  that  she  had  hoped  by  this 
time  to  find  Sydney  engaged  in  war  work. 

"Organization  of  individuals  in  the  present  crisis 
is  really  the  only  thing  that  counts,"  said  Elizabeth 
firmly;  and  again  the  younger  girl  was  seized  with  a 
wild  impulse  toward  laughter.  As  they  sat  together, 
the  two  years  of  separation  seemed,  in  a  vague  way, 
greatly  to  have  marked  the  difference  between  them. 
Elizabeth,  with  one  neatly  gaitered  leg  over  the  other, 
her  bronze  hair  just  showing  under  the  cap  and  her 
general  air  of  martial  efficiency,  was  far  from  being 
the  Elizabeth  who  had  fled  in  1914  from  that  out- 
break of  lunacy  known  as  the  Great  War.  She  was 


250     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

now  perfectly  in  the  movement  and  it  was  evident  that 
she  had  expected  to  find  Sydney  also  in  the  movement 
and  was  puzzled. 

"I  can't  say  I  think  you  are  looking  well,  you 
know,"  she  remarked  in  a  dissatisfied  way.  "You're 
rather  pale  and  thin  it  seems  to  me." 

Sydney  brushed  this  view  aside.  "I  was  rather  done 
out  in  the  summer  and  had  to  go  away  and  rest,"  she 
answered;  "but  I  seem  to  be  all  right  now." 

"You  seem  to  me  different  somehow,"  said  her 
friend  and  studied  her  in  silence.  Just  exactly  wherein 
the  difference  lay  she  found  it  troublesome  to  say. 
Sydney  seemed  taller,  slower  in  movement,  her  thin 
dress  was  more  feminine,  her  voice  was  lower  in  tim- 
bre and  held  unfamiliar  notes.  Her  face  was  more 
definite  in  modelling  and  the  sensitive  mouth  had  de- 
veloped a  certain  strength — her  glance  also  seemed 
to  have  more  reserve  and  there  was  a  quiet  poise 
about  her  which  Elizabeth  felt  to  be  somehow  un- 
American.  One  felt  there  had  been  influences — 
but  what  caused  them?  Age,  perhaps — or  work? 
But  what  could  there  be  in  the  routine  of  a  private 
secretary  which  lent  one  that  air  of  having  lived? 

"I  never  quite  understood  from  your  letters  just 
why  you  left  Sister  Lucy,"  Elizabeth  said.  "1  should 
have  thought  you  would  be  so  much  closer  to  things 
in  the  hospital — to  the  War,  I  mean." 

"Well,  there  are  a  great  many  sides  to  the  War 
r  .  .  perhaps,  if  I  had  been  a  nurse  I  should 
have  felt  so — but  you  know  I've  never  had  any  tal- 
ent for  nursing.  And  I  am  useful  to  Sir  Thomas." 

"What  sort  of  things  do  you  do  for  him?"  Eliz- 
abeth asked  curiously.  "Write  his  letters  and  so 
on,  I  suppose?" 

"Oh — the  usual  secretarial  work  and  keeping  his 
appointments  and  affairs  in  order;  getting  up  reports 
for  him  on  Committees,  when  he  can't  be  there; 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          251 

and  collecting  his  notes  for  use  in  the  House,"  re- 
plied Sydney,  serenely,  and  somehow  once  more  Eliza- 
beth felt  baffled. 

"You  like  it?" 

"Very  much:  and  they're  the  kindest  family  in 
the  world." 

"Well  it  seems  to  me  dreadfully  hole  and  corner; 
and  outside  of  everything,"  declared  Elizabeth.  "I 
think  you'd  much  better  join  the  Unit  and  come 
with  us  to  France."  She  fully  expected  to  have  this 
view  met  in  the  old  way,  by  a  vehement  outpouring 
of  denial  and  assertion — but  Sydney  at  first  remained 
silent,  then  when  pressed,  simply  said  that  she  didn't 
feel  that  way  about  it — and  changed  the  subject. 
They  talked  almost  entirely  thereafter  about  Eliza- 
beth s  affairs  and  prospects — and  that  conscious- 
ness of  profound  change  and  reserve,  continued  pres- 
ent to  the  elder  girl. 

The  unit  remained  in  London  only  long  enough 
to  obtain  the  proper  permits  and  during  this  time 
they  saw  each  other  daily.  Elizabeth  was  very  much 
absorbed  in  her  unit:  she  was  always  a  community 
person ;  one  inevitably  thought  of  her  somehow  as  a 
part  of  some  organization.  To  be  in  London,  in 
uniform,  a  member  of  that  philanthropic  crusade 
which  she  felt  to  be  the  great  miracle  of  the  time — 
this  was  wonderfully  satisfactory  to  Elizabeth  and 
she  was  sorely  tried  by  the  fact  that  it  seemed  to 
impress  her  friend  so  little.  The  younger  girl  was 
troubled  by  her  own  lack  of  frankness — it  savored 
of  disloyalty.  Yet  how  was  it  possible  to  pluck  up  all 
her  experiences  of  the  last  months  and  lay  them  be- 
fore Elizabeth's  inflexible  gaze?  She  knew  what 
her  friend's  views  were,  and  a  contest  with  emotion 
which  was  unremitting — though  successful — was  not 
likely  to  gain  much  sympathy.  Above  all  she  could 
never  have  yielded  up  the  chief  offender  to  Eliza- 


252     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

beth's  wrath  .  .  .  which  would  have  taken  all 
sorts  of  forms,  drawn  from  novels.  She  could  imag- 
ine her  friend's  raised  eyebrows  and  positive  re- 
probations and  warnings  against  the  immorality  of 
English  aristocrats ;  the  idea  made  her  writhe,  though 
all  the  while  she  agreed.  So  she  said  nothing;  she 
let  Elizabeth  go  without  letting  her  know  anything 
of  importance  about  her  own  feelings.  But  she  loved 
her  dearly  all  the  while;  and  she  felt  desperately 
the  blackness  of  the  day  when  Elizabeth  departed 
into  that  cloud  of  horror,  from  which  came  the 
incessant  grinding  and  roaring  of  the  wheels  of  War. 
It  was  worse,  far  worse,  than  their  first  parting. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

TEN  days  later,  Elizabeth  wrote  saying  that  she 
was  hard  at  work,  that  conditions  were  far  worse 
than  she  or  anyone  else,  could  have  dreamed,  that 
the  suffering  was  as  far  beyond  her  power  to  de- 
scribe as  she  feared  it  might  be  beyond  her  power 
to  alleviate.  Certainly,  there  was  no  complacency 
in  that  letter,  and  the  one  or  two  following  it  soon 
showed  that  her  natural  strength  and  capacity  had 
fully  risen  to  the  task.  Then  fell  silence,  and,  for 
Sydney,  all  of  life  once  again  became  centered  in 
the  room  at  Charles  street,  in  typewriter  and  tele- 
phone, in  reports  and  blue-books,  in  measures  and 
debates.  There  was  very  little  that  autumn  to  di- 
vert her  mind  beyond  an  occasional  encounter  with 
some  interesting  stranger  at  the  Pember  Chyne's  on 
Thursday  afternoon,  or  a  romp  now  and  then  with 
Edith  Caird's  babies.  An  unusually  long  stretch  of 
golden  weather  gave  way  at  last  to  an  unremitting 
drizzle,  varied  by  perpetual  fog.  These  were  even 
welcomed  since  they  brought  some  relief  from  the 
menace  of  air-raids,  one  or  two  of  which,  that  Octo- 
ber were  severe. 

Miss  Violand,  urged  by  both  Sydney  and  Giddy, 
postponed  her  return  to  town  until  the  danger  from 
them  was  lessened.  She  had  not  a  very  strong  heart 
and  there  was  no  doubt  but  that  these  alarms  were 
harmful  to  her,  all  the  more  because  of  the  daunt- 
less courage  which  allowed  her  to  make  no  sign. 
But  her  companions  noted  the  blue  lips  and  nervous 
tremor  with  disquiet  and  were  decidedly  relieved 
when  she  finally  consented  to  remain  away.  Her 

253 


254      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

conscientiousness  took  a  great  deal  of  argument  to 
combat  and  Sydney  could  not  help  wondering  if 
there  were  many  elderly  ladies  in  her  own  country 
who  would  feel  themselves  obliged  to  remain  in 
danger  for  the  reason  purely  of  noblesse  oblige; — 
because  they  did  not  wish  to  appear  driven  away! 
Miss  Violand  stiffened  her  delicate  head  and  ob- 
served that  she  could  not  leave  Sydney  and  Giddy 
to  face  bombardment  alone. 

"But  its  bad  for  you, — and  Giddy  and  I  don't 
feel  it  a  bit!"  the  girl  urged  for  the  fiftieth  time, 
"it  isn't  either  as  if  you  had  any  work  to  do  about 
it,  dear!" 

"I  have  work,  Sydney, — to  show  the  enemy  how 
we  feel.  You  know  that's  what  he  is  trying  to  do 
after  all,  to  frighten  us,  the  civil  population,  by  these 
attacks.  If  a  person  in  my  position  runs  away — " 

"How  can  you  be  running  away,  Miss  Helen, 
when  all  the  world  knows  you  always  used  to  be 
spending  your  autumn  in  the  country,  with  the  rest 
of  the  gentry?"  Giddy  here  indignantly  inter- 
posed. "Before  the  War,  was  you  ever  in  London 
in  October,  I  ask  you,  mem?"  She  turned  to 
Sydney,  her  honest  fact  flushed,  "Wasn't  this 
always  the  month  for  my  cleaning  and  freshening 
and  painting?  And  now  you  are  going  to  give  the 
Huns  a  chance  to  say  they  changed  all  your  habits, 
ay,  and  your  father's  habits  and  the  whole  family's ! 
I  don't  know  how  you  can  bring  yourself  to  do  it, 
mem!" 

"You  see  how  Giddy  feels,"  Sydney  joined  in, 
but  Miss  Violand  only  set  her  lips  and  shook  her 
head.  Fortunately,  an  appeal  to  the  doctor  was 
not  without  its  effect  and  his  opinion  was  final.  Miss 
Violand  must  return  to  her  brother  in  Yorkshire  and 
that  without  delay,  and  from  this  decision  there  was 
no  further  appeal. 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END         255 

Sydney  and  Giddy  therefore,  watched  out  the 
raids  alone.  Sitting  quietly  together  in  the  dark- 
ness, they  heard  the  sinister  humming,  the  crash  of 
the  falling  bomb.  Giddy  knitted,  her  face  finely 
steady,  her  lips  moving  in  prayer.  The  younger 
woman,  hot  with  rage  and  shaken  by  excitement, 
yet  drew  calmness  and  strength  from  this  com- 
panionship which  often  in  her  after  life  meant 
"England"  to  her  mind,  and  nothing  less.  All  the 
while,  her  imagination  played  to  and  fro,  touched 
with  wonder.  That  this  should  be  her  life, — the 
life  of  millions  of  people — this  incredible  horror; 
"the  terror  that  flyeth  by  night";  and  that  men 
and  women  alike  should  meet  it  with  such  uncon- 
querable courage!  She  kept  thinking  of  the  people 
she  loved,  those  at  home,  then  of  Elizabeth,  of 
Adrian  .  .  .  was  he  safe?  Flashes  lit  up  the 
little  room,  outlining  against  the  window  the  old 
woman's  indomitable  head. 

November  came,  Miss  Violand  returned,  Syd- 
ney's days  became  once  more  still  and  regular.  She 
had  many  quiet  evenings,  reading  aloud  to  her  hos- 
tess or  anxiously  discussing  ways  and  means;  rising 
prices  and  falling  comforts;  food,  fuel,  clothes  and 
such  details.  Life  kept  steadily  growing  more  ex- 
pensive, more  restricted  within  the  sheer  limits  of 
the  possible.  How  were  they  best  to  meet  this? 
Forgotten  economies  of  an  hundred  years  ago  be- 
came in  daily  use.  Miss  Violand  took  to  making 
paper  spills  to  replace  matches  for  the  coming  win- 
ter; she  turned  each  envelope  inside  out  and  used 
it  twice.  When  she  and  Sydney  dined  alone,  they 
kept  a  bare  table  and  used  napkins  made  of  paper. 
Although  omnibuses  were  scarce,  and  the  women 
who  conducted  them  were  rough,  yet  no  taxi  could 
be  used  unless  it  were  question  of  a  journey. 

Fires  became   a   problem;   so  they  shut  up  the 


256 

drawing-room  and  sat  in  the  dining-room.  The 
char-woman  who  had  been  Giddy's  assistant,  be- 
took herself  off  and  the  old  servant  did  her  work 
alone.  This,  she  assured  her  mistress,  was  no 
hardship,  but  there  were  other  changes  that  upset 
her  more.  She  used  to  return  from  her  marketing 
with  her  mouth  pursed  into  a  grim  line,  and  her 
skirts, — no  longer  stiffly  starched, — bristling  with 
indignation.  The  price  of  food  was  "just  a  fair 
outrage."  In  Giddy's  opinion  this  was  all  the  fault 
of  "they  profiteers"  and  she  had  no  manner  of  use 
for  the  present  Government.  "Indeed,  I  wonder, 
mem,"  was  her  invariable  conclusion,  "whatever  we 
will  be  coming  to?"  And  "I  wonder  too,  Giddy"  her 
mistress  would  echo  with  a  sigh.  At  desperate 
moments — such  as  when  finding  eggs  6/6  a  dozen, 
Giddy  would  not  hesitate  to  prophesy  revolution. 

In  December,  the  Government  fell.  Sir  Thomas 
had  never  ceased  being  a  Conservative  but  he  was  a 
Conservative  with  a  difference,  and  he  had  felt  the 
weakness  of  the  existing  Coalition  to  have  been 
worse  than  the  weakness  of  Asquith.  Tory  though 
he  was,  he  had  one  very  strong  bond  of  sympathy 
with  Mr.  Lloyd  George.  Both  of  them  were  bent  on 
winning  the  War.  Therefore  like  some  other  Conser- 
vatives, Sir  Thomas  Easterly  drew  a  long  breath,  shut 
his  eyes,  swallowed  hard,  shut  the  door  of  his  mind 
on  certain  inconvenient  recollections,  and  set  himself 
to  work  to  support  the  new  regime  with  all  the 
strength  that  lay  in  him.  Change  of  Government 
brought  change  of  tasks,  both  to  him  and  to  his 
friend, JLord  Waveney.  The  latter,  in  particular,  was 
increasingly  occupied  and  therefore  no  longer  able — 
so  he  said — to  drop  in  of  evenings  for  long  talks  in 
Easterly's  study.  He  was  over-worked,  he  declared; 
everybody  was  over-worked — except  the  thousands  of 
workmen  who  did  the  least  possible  labour  for  the 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          257 

shortest  possible  hours  and  preferred  striking  to 
standing  by  the  Nation  and  their  necessary  tasks. 

Just  after  Christmas,  there  reached  Sydney  a  long 
letter  from  Harry  Ashburnham,  a  letter  written  in 
some  remote  district  of  southern  Russia  and  for- 
warded to  her,  thus  escaping  censorship,  in  the  Em- 
bassy bag.  It  was  a  brilliant  account  and  characteris- 
tically gave  an  analysis  of  the  whole  situation,  politi- 
cal and  military,  which  presupposed  in  the  recip- 
ient a  fair  knowledge  of  the  subject.  She  noted  too, 
with  a  smile,  that  he  suggested  two  or  three  books  for 
her  immediate  reading — such  as  Alexinsky's  "Russia 
in  Europe" — Tchekov's  Comedies  and  certain 
works  by  Stephen  Graham.  As  a  postscript,  he  put 
these  words:  al  am  adding  some  sheets  which  are 
wholly  separate  from  this  letter,  but  which  I  wish 
you  to  read  carefully  and  give  yourself,  personally, 
to  Romcyne.  They  contain  observations  on  the 
trend  of  events  here.  There  is  no  use  in  my  sending 
to  the  W.  O.  or  to  the  F.  O. — to  be  snowed  under 
on  their  desks.  I  prefer  not  to  do  so.  Although  it 
may  be  indiscreet  to  address  myself  to  Romeyne — 
yet  he  is  the  only  one  of  them  who  knows  anything. 
Moreover  he  likes  you — he  will  be  inclined  to  favour 
me  on  your  account.  I  hope  I  am  not  a  bother,  but 
I  know  he  comes  in  often.  . 

What  he  enclosed  was  a  close  and  succinct  report  of 
a  situation,  which  even  Sydney  could  not  read  with- 
out realizing  its  significance.  Evidently,  English 
opinion  had  been  wholly  misinformed,  since  Ash- 
burnham was  so  plainly  convinced,  not  only  of  the 
imminence  of  Russian  revolution — but  also,  what  was 
yet  more  vital  to  the  Allied  cause — of  the  imminence 
of  separate  peace.  His  analysis  of  the  Russian  char- 
acter showed  how  its  Slavonic  dreaminess  and  fun- 
damental mysticism  had  made  the  necessary  war-dis- 


258      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

cipline  difficult — while  maintaining  all  military  effort 
under  an  increasing  strain. 

Then  followed  a  narrative  of  the  writer's  journey 
from  the  Caucasus  to  the  Urals,  and  beyond,  into 
Siberia,  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  the  attitude 
of  these  outlying  peoples  in  event  of  Revolution. 
Ashburnham  felt  that  the  people  whose  country  lay 
along  the  Don  River  might  have  a  greater  steadfast- 
ness and  vigour  than  he  had  been  able  to  find  in  the 
rest  of  Russia.  The  result  of  his  travels  was  to  con- 
firm his  opinion  that  the  future  lay  here.  Even  now, 
he  believed,  it  was  not  too  late  for  a  concerted  Allied 
policy  to  control  the  situation  for  the  present  and  to 
guide  its  future.  When  the  revolution  did  come, 
Siberia  would  certainly  hold  a  stable  government,  and, 
federated  with  the  tribes  of  the  Don  Valley,  form  a 
great,  new  Nation,  which  should  have  every  reason  to 
ally  itself  with  the  Entente.  A  bulwark  might  be 
built  against  German  influence,  which  outlasting  the 
present  War,  would  transform,  in  time,  the  face  of 
Asia. 

Upon  the  details  of  how  best  this  dream  was  to 
be  realized,  Sydney  did  not  linger.  She  noted  with 
pride  that  they  assumed  for  himself  a  task  nothing 
less  than  heroic.  This  was  like  Ashburnham,  and 
thus  he  fulfilled  himself  in  her  eyes,  demanding  for 
his  scheme,  wide  imagination  in  the  conception  and 
tireless  energy  in  the  execution.  One  beheld  him 
linked  to  a  long  line  of  men  who  have  carried  their 
torch  into  the  far  corners  of  the  earth — Clive,  Cecil 
Rhodes,  or  even,  tremendous  in  failure,  Gordon. 
Under  the  breath  of  this  inspiration,  the  secretary 
forgot  that  the  payment  England  most  often  exacts 
of  her  empire-builders  is  that  of  disinheritance.  Per- 
sonal repudiation,  personal  failure  even,  have  been 
the  most  common  reward  of  all  those  men  from 


259 

Columbus  to  Gordon  whose  task  has  been  to  remould 
the  world  nearer  to  the  heart's  desire. 

Naturally,  Sydney  was  not  insensible  to  the  com- 
pliment of  such  a  letter.  In  Ashburnham's  eyes  she 
was  evidently  a  mind  to  aid,  a  personality  to  con- 
sider,— someone  who  counted,  someone  who  dis«- 
tinctly  counted.  In  these  years  she  had  learned,  she 
had  thought,  she  had  lived.  She  found  that  her 
mind  played  about  the  contents  of  his  narrative,  with 
flexible  criticism  and  comparison,  even  with  a  touch 
of  philosophy. 

Was  this  letter,  she  meditated,  to  prove  in  future, 
just  another  expression  of  that  eternal  conflict  be- 
tween the  English  genius  and  the  English  character, 
— such  as  she  had  already  encountered  in  the  case  of 
Ernest  Liston?  Was  she  again  to  see  individual  in- 
itiative fighting  bureaucratic  inertia?  Would  the 
"mandarins"  believe  Ashburnham? 

She  spoke  to  Sir  Thomas. 

"What  is  your  feeling,  Sir  Thomas,  about  the  Rus- 
sian situation?" 

"About  Russia?  The  reports  are, — certainly  not 
satisfactory,  but  I'm  inclined  to  think  them  too  pes- 
simistic." 

Sir  Thomas  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  tell  his 
secretary  that  the  Government  policy  in  regard  to 
Russia  had  been  exactly  as  shifting,  stupid  and 
muddle-headed  as  it  had  been  In  regard  to  some  other 
countries  which  he  could  name.  He  was  not  proud 
of  it;  and  moreover,  he  had  grown  a  little  cautious  of 
exposing  the  defects  of  the  bureaucracy  to  the  clear, 
uncompromising  and  rather  intolerant  young  woman, 
whose  mental  grasp  frequently  amazed  him.  Youth 
has  often  such  an  inconvenient  habit  of  simplifying  a 
problem,  causing  questions  of  expediency  to  show  up 
in  an  uglier  light  .  .  .  The  Russian  situation 
called  for  a  firmness  and  faith  which  the  Foreign 


26o     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

office  altogether  lacked.  Therefore,  tapping  his  eye- 
glasses reflectively  upon  his  finger-tips,  Sir  Thomas 
delivered  a  little  lecture  upon  the  need  of  a  conserva- 
tive foreign  policy  and  the  danger  of  taking  too  ex- 
clusively the  military  point  of  view.  Soldiers  were 
apt  to  rely  on  action,  and  thus  lead  the  country  into 
trouble  and  expense.  Sir  Thomas  had,  it  is  needless 
to  say,  perfectly  recognized  the  handwriting  of  the 
closely-written  sheets  lying  on  Miss  Lea's  desk.  Miss 
Lea  listened  with  even  more  than  her  usual  close  atten- 
tion to  his  remarks,  'but  later  in  the  day,  on  his  way  to 
the  Carlton  Club,  Sir  Thomas  wondered  that  she  did 
not  mention  this  document  and  its  contents, 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

So  completely  was  she  carried  away  on  the  cur- 
rent of  Ashburnham's  enthusiasm,  so  absorbed  by  his 
ideas  and  the  possibilities  they  evoked — that  it  was 
some  hours  before  she  began  to  realize  what  it  was  he 
asked  her  to  do.  .  .  .  How,  after  what  had 
taken  place,  could  she  seek  out  Romeyne?  The  mere 
thought  sent  a  stir  along  her  nerves,  reviving  all  that 
miserable  restlessness  and  disquiet  which  she  had  be- 
gun to  calm.  Yet  to  refuse  Ashburnham  outright  was 
to  stifle  his  plan  unheard.  Sydney  went  out  and 
walked  the  streets,  moving  in  the  crowd  as  among 
shadows  and  recalling  how  much  she  owed  to  Ash- 
burnham's comradeship,  to  his  colourful  nature,  to 
his  dauntless  and  spirited  attitude  toward  life.  After 
all,  the  other  page  was  ended;  neither  of  them  wished 
to  turn  back  to  it.  She  returned  to  the  office  and 
wrote : — 

"Dear  Lord  Waveney: 

"A  letter  has  come  today  from  Colonel  Ashburn- 
ham, with  an  enclosure  which  he  asks  me  to  give  you 
personally,  since  it  contains  information  of  great  im- 
portance for  your  private  reading.  No  doubt  he  will 
be  satisfied  if  Mr.  Parker  were  to  deliver  it  to  you; 
so  that  I  have  it  here  ready  sealed  for  htm  whenever 
he  calls. 

"Yours  very  sincerely, 

"Sydney  Lea." 

Waveney  came  on  the  following  afternoon.  She 
heard  his  voice  at  the  front  door.  "Yes,  I  know — I 
shall  come  in  and  speak  to  Miss  Lea,  for  a  minute." 

261 


262     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

There  was  a  hurried  interchange  between  them 
.  .  .  both  speaking  at  once. 

"I  came  as  soon  as  I  received  your  note." 

"I  had  hardly  expected  it  would  reach  you  so 
quickly. 

Then  silence  ...  no  expression  of  any  kind 
showed  itself  on  the  man's  face ;  the  woman  standing, 
above  her  typewriter  looked  very  tall  and  white. 
.  She  handed  him  the  letter  and  then  seated 
herself  at  her  desk  while  he  read  it  to  the  end.  The 
concentration  of  his  attention  gave  her  a  renewed 
sense  of  security — the  buffeting  of  her  pulses  ceased. 

"What  an  imagination  the  fellow  has!"  he  mur- 
mured, turning  the  last  page.  "I  wonder,  now — I 
wonder,  if  he  is  right?" 

"I  feel  sure  he  is !" 

"You  would — you  would,  of  course — "  he  paused 
walked  to  the  fireplace  and  sat  down  on  the  fender, 
while  he  continued. 

"Just  at  the  moment,  I  am  out  of  touch  with  the 
mandarins  on  this  question.  There  has  been  other 
work  to  do.  I  have  been  twice  in  France — then,  on 
account  of  my  wife's  illness — I  have  had  to  be  in 
Bournemouth.  So  it  has  been  a  broken  autumn,  alto- 
gether, and  I  am  out  of  touch.  I  must  talk  to  Cecil — 
yes,  I  must  talk  to  Cecil, — and  then  there  is  'Miche — 
Miche' — he  ought  to  know  something — ." 

Her  grave  eyes  lightened  with  a  smile  to  hear  him 
use,  as  of  old,  the  pet  name  of  the  Grand  Duke 
Michael  of  Russia. 

"Surely,"  she  ventured,  "you  will  support  him?" 

"Who?"  quickly,  "the  beau-sabreur?  Ah,  that  de- 
pends, I  am  not  a  Menzies  y'see — I  never  push  a 
lost  cause." 

"I  never  classed  you  with  General  Menzies  for  an 
instant!  .  .  .  But  is  this  a  lost  cause?"  she 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          263 

spoke  with  fire.  "When  one  thinks  what  is  at 
stake—  I" 

"He  has  more  confidence  than  I  in  the  result. 
Moreover — I  have  none  in  the  ability  of  the  present 
mandarins.  We're  a  slow  and  blundering  nation  and 
our  genius — if  any — seems  to  lie  in  the  forlorn  hope. 
If  all  Ashburnham  predicts  comes  true  and  Russia 
goes  out  of  the  War — then  we  may  be  able  by  some 
miracle  of  doggedness  to  save  ourselves  and  France. 
That  would  be  like  us.  But — prevent  the  misfortune 
by  the  exercise  of  intelligent  foresight  and  so  on — ? 
No!" 

Her  tone  became  as  ironical  as  his  own. 

"Then  you  believe  only  in  muddling  through?" 

"Not  exactly — "  he  turned  toward  her  for  the  first 
time  and  spoke  with  more  animation,  tapping  his  em- 
phasis on  the  fender's  edge  with  a  long  forefinger. 
"But  it  is  true  that  we  rise  to  our  full  power  only 
when  things  go  against  us — only  then  do  we  co-or- 
dinate, act.  Over  and  over  again,  I  have  seen  this 
happen — and  in  it  lies  all  my  hope  for  the  future. 
We  shall  beat  the  Germans — but  only  because  they 
will  come  near  to  beating  us.  Every  time  they  make  a 
fresh  move — the  Zeppelins,  the  gas,  the  submarine — 
they  rouse  anew  that  force  of  resistance.  Their 
weakness  lies  in  their  logic;  they  reason:  'If  we  ter- 
rify them  sufficiently,  they  will  lay  down  their  arms.' 
And  we,  illogically,  never  see  it  that  way.  If  they 
could  leave  us  alone — well,  you  know  I  have  always 
felt  that  we  carry  the  seeds  of  disintegration  within 
us,  and  we  are  naturally  a  pacific  people.  But  to  get 
back  to  Ashburnham.  What  would  you  do?" 

She  smiled  a  little  at  the  question,  but  his  face  was 
wholly  serious. 

"I  think,"  Sydney  said  slowly,  "that  first,  I  should 
go  quietly  about  finding  out  what  the  real  current  of 
opinion  in  the  government  was  on  the  subject  and  then 


264     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES '  STREET 

as  they  probably  have  no  policy,  for  they  rarely  have, 
on  any  Eastern  question,  so  far  as  I  can  see, — I 
should  set  to  work  to  form  one  for  them.  You  have 
done  that  before.  .  .  . 

"Oh,  have  I?" 

She  disregarded  his  interjection.  "And  you  can  do 
it  here,  because  this  Government  is  a  new  broom. 
There  are  the  newspapers — Lord  Northcliffe  will  do 
a  great  deal  for  you,  if  you  wish,  you  know — and  of 
course,  one  would  have  to  find  out  how  opinion  goes 
in  France — what  Lord  Bertie  thinks.  You  might 
send  Parker  to  Sir  George  Buchanan." 

He  almost  laughed.    "I  might.    And  then?" 

She  turned  over  the  sheets  which  he  had  laid  back 
on  her  desk. 

"Then   there   is   the   military  program. 
That  would  have  to  be  determined     .     .     .     and 
surely  the  War  Office  could  find  for  you  some  men 
who  speak  Russian?    But  you  are  laughing  at  me — ." 

"No!"  he  answered  with  vehemence — "on  the  con- 
trary— you  have  my  admiration.  It  doesn't  matter 
that  your  ideas  are  not  immediately  practicable — the 
point  is  that  you  have  ideas.  It  is  wonderful — you 
have  my  admiration.  .  .  .  And  you  have  fore- 
cast my  plan  of  campaign  exactly — if." 

"If?" 

"If  I  saw  any  hope  in  Ashburnham's  scheme." 

"Then  you  see  no  hope  in  it?" 

"It  takes  reflection,"  Adrian  repeated,  rising.  "I 
wonder  what  the  Germans  are  doing  there  by  the 
way — does  he  mention  it?" 

"Much  the  same  thing,  but  more  energetically  than 
England; — and  they  are  playing  for  the  revolution." 

"Well,  one  must  wait  and  see  how  it  turns  out." 

"I  confess,"  said  Sydney  steadily,  "that  I  am  disap- 
pointed." 

"In  me — you  mean?" 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END         265 

"I  think — in  you." 

"You  expected  me,  I  suppose,  to  catch  fire  from 
your  friend's  letter?" 

"I  did  not  expect  you  to  be  cold  and  doubtful — to 
be  on  the  side  of  Wait  and  See." 

"Perhaps,"  he  remarked  in  his  quite  unruffled 
voice,  "it  may  be  for  the  best  that  you  should  see  me 
as  I  am." 

She  hastily  turned  the  conversation  away  from  the 
personal  to  the  general. 

"I  should  have  thought  that  by  this  time — after 
more  than  two  years — England  would  be  tired  of 
muddle  and  willing  to  use  foresight.  Antwerp,  Gal- 
lipoli,  Mesopotamia,  Roumania — what  an  indictment 
— what  a  list  of  failures!" 

He  made  a  gesture,  but  it  was  evident  that  the  in- 
dependence of  her  judgment  was  a  new  sensation  to 
him,  and  their  eyes  met,  for  the  first  time — chal- 
lenging, as  strangers. 

"Turn  your  mind  then,"  he  said,  "and  consider 
the  German  successes.  .  .  .  Belgium's  conquest 
raised  the  moral  protest  of  the  whole  world — an  im- 
mense force,  let  me  tell  you !  The  submarine  warfare 
will  bring  down  upon  the  Kaiser's  head  the  gigantic 
weight  of  your  country,  of  the  United  States.  .  .  . 
Believe  me — there  is  no  failure  like  a  German  success 
and  there  is  no  success  like  an  English  failure." 

"Lord  Waveney — that  is  an  epigram." 

"You  always  stimulate  me,"  he  rejoined, — then 
with  a  change  of  tone — "Don't  let  us  misunderstand 
one  another,  you  and  I.  I  have  not  condemned  Ash- 
burnham's  scheme  off-hand.  I  shall  go  over  his  letter 
on  the  lines  you  so  admirably  indicated  a  minute  ago. 
.  .  .  I  shall  think  about  it.  Will  that  satisfy 
you?" 

"Of  course." 

"You  admire  and  like  Ashburnham,  do  you  not?" 


266     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

"Very  much — but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with 
it-~?" 

"I  am  not  so  sure.  I  shall  do  my  best  for  him,  for 
you  both."  He  moved  to  the  door  of  the  room  and 
paused  there,  looking  at  her  as  he  held  the  knob  in 
his  hand.  .  .  . 

"I  did  not  come,  you  know,  to  get  his  letter,"  he 
said,  quietly — "but  I  made  that  an  excuse.  I  wanted 
to  see  you  again." 

Then,  without  further  word,  he  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

THE  winter  dragged  on  in  long,  grey  weeks. 
.  .  .  Letters  reached  Sydney  from  Elizabeth, 
short,  hasty,  horrified,  written  from  nowhere  and  in 
the  midst  of  hard  work.  They  filled  her  friend  with 
restlessness  and  discontent.  Why  stay  on  helping  Sir 
Thomas  and  contemplating  the  bureaucratic  mud- 
dlers, when  there  were  children  to  be  fed,  babies  to  be 
saved,  hope  brought  to  the  living  and  graves  digged 
for  the  dead?  This  urge  toward  a  vital  task  grew 
strong  in  her — surely,  it  would  serve  to  quiet  that 
inner  tumult.  She  hinted  as  much  to  her  employer, 
but  Sir  Thomas  looked  so  horrified  and  distressed  and 
implored  her  so  earnestly  not  to  give  away  to  unthink- 
ing conscientiousness  tha?  she  had  not  the  heart  to  in- 
sist. After  all,  perhaps  it  was  true  that  others  could 
do  reconstruction  work  as  well  as  she. 

Ashburnham  wrote  several  times,  full,  long,  inti- 
mate letters,  opening  before  her  wide  prospects  and 
talking  simply  of  large  things.  .  .  .  Then  a 
time  passed ;  they  reached  her  at  longer  intervals  and, 
when  opened,  were  found  to  be  full  of  ominous  muti- 
lations. Where  was  Ke,  that  eager  soldier?  Was  he 
flying  over  the  steppes  in  a  sledge  ?  Or  climbing  some 
mountain  pass  in  the  very  Heart  of  the  world?  Or 
bringing  courage  and  order  into  the  lives  of  strange, 
helpless,  barbarous  peoples?  Whatever  he  might  be 
doing,  she  knew  Ke  th'ought  it  "perfectly  splendid." 
Sydney  found  herself  missing  him  very  much  and 
eagerly  looking  for  his  return.  For  some  weeks  she 
waited  feverishly  for  word  as  to  the  fulfilment  of  his 
hopes  and  plans.  But  Waveney  made  no  sign. 

267 


268      THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

At  midwinter  came  Janey's  marriage  to  Donald 
Lochiel ;  one  of  those  hurried  characteristic  Christmas 
weddings,  planned  to  take  advantage  of  the  young 
officer's  leave.  Janey's  mother  felt  a  little  dazed  by 
the  whole  thing  and  the  contrast  with  what  should 
have  been — no  engagement  to  speak  of,  no  trousseau, 
no  plans;  just  a  few  hurried  preparations — no  time 
to  think.  What  could  one  make  of  such  a  nuptial, 
with  its  tragic  undertone  of  parting  ?  Lady  Easterly's 
heart  ached  as  her  thoughts  flew  back  to  her  own 
wedding,  with  its  delightful,  leisurely  hospitalities 
and  rejoicings — traditions  and  preparations  and  con- 
gratulations; their  dressing  the  village  church  with 
flowers,  the  household  ball,  the  homecoming — her 
bridegroom,  rosy  and  radiant  beside  her  in  the  lan- 
dau, as  they  passed  under  the  triumphal  arch  with 
"Welcome  to  the  Bride"  on  it,  at  the  gate  of  Easterly 
Park.  "Plenteousness  and  peace'"  .  .  .  the 
words  repeated  themselves  over  and  over  to  her  mind 
as  she  bowed  her  grey  head  in  the  dusky  little  London 
church — where  the  candles  seemed  unable  to  dissipate 
the  darkness  which  pressed  in  from  the  foggy  streets. 
"Plenteousness  and  peace" — plenty  of  food,  of 
money,  of  land,  of  honorable  tasks,  of  responsibilities, 
— and  later,  of  young  life  in  the  house — how  little 
had  she  realized  these  things !  Women  of  Ada  East- 
erly's class  and  type  are  not  given  to  analysis,  but  she 
spoke  her  thoughts  to  her  husband  in  the  car  on  their 
way  home. 

"We  did  not  appreciate  what  we  had,  I  fear. 
.  .  .  We  took  all  our  blessings  far  too  much  as 
a  matter  of  course.  When  I  looked  at  Janey — ." 

She  did  not  finish,  and  Sir  Thomas,  his  ruddy  face 
a  trifle  pale,  nodded  a  silent  assent. 

These  thoughts  acheingly  recurred  to  Janey's 
mother  during  the  rest  of  the  day :  when  she  saw  the 
bright  haired  maidens,  her  daughter's  friends,  gath- 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          269 

ering  around  Hugh's  wheeled  chair;  or  when,  that 
evening,  she  came  upon  Weston,  blubbering  with  her 
head  in  the  clothes  cupboard  because  she  could  not 
go  as  maid  with  "Miss  Jane"  on  her  brief  honey- 
moon. Janey  had  dispensed  with  Weston's  services 
since  the  War  began;  indeed,  Lady  Easterly  herself 
had  practically  dispensed  with  them,  making  use  of 
Weston  as  buyer  to  her  work-party  and  knitter  in 
general  to  the  mine-sweepers  on  the  North  Sea — and 
nobody  took  maids  on  their  honeymoons  nowadays — 
but  still !  Weston's  mistress  dismissed  her  to  her  bed, 
in  that  dignified  and  final  manner  which  left  no  open- 
ing for  lamentation;  but  Weston  was  right,  when  she 
said  that  "Her  Ladyship  felt  it,  felt  the  difference  as 
anyone  could  see."  Her  Ladyship  felt  it  and  Sir 
Thomas  felt  it,  but  being  what  they  were  they  said 
nothing  further  to  each  other.  After  the  sacrifice  of 
Tom's  life  and  the  sacrifice  of  Hugh's  health — what 
was  the  sacrifice  of  Janey's  wedding?  After  all,  they 
both  came  to  feel  that  it  was  much  to  have  Janey  back 
again  in  her  old  room — poor  Janey,  with  only  a  new 
name,  a  new  ring  and  the  memory  of  a  rainy  week  at 
Bournemouth,  to  remind  her  of  her  changed  estate. 
However,  she  was  radiant,  very  busy  with  her  war- 
work  and  her  letters  and  docile  as  of  old. 

Sydney  took  a  great  interest  in  the  wedding  and 
gave  herself  and  her  help  freely.  She  had  carefully 
studied  the  bridegroom,  a  very  solemn,  very  simple 
Scottish  boy,  with  a  mind  as  childishly  direct  and  little 
cultivated  as  that  of  his  bride,  and  he  filled  her 
modern  eyes  with  amazement.  There  was  in 
Donald's  philosophy  the  simplest  belief  in  things  as 
they  are  and  a  total  absence  of  ambition.  If  heaven 
spared  his  life  it  was  not  hard  to  see  just  what  would 
be  after  the  War;  a  careful,  well-regulated  outdoors 
existence,  for  a  large  part  of  the  year,  in  a  bleak  and 
remote  part  of  Scotland,  and  an  economical  holiday  in 


270     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

town  in  the  Spring.  It  would  all  be  arranged,  or- 
derly, planned  out,  to  an  unheard-of  degree  and 
Janey's  life  would  be  the  same.  Incidentally,  Janey's 
son,  if  she  had  one,  was  practically  certain  to  in- 
herit a  property  improved  by  care  and  foresight. 
This  estimate  comprised  really  all  that  one  could 
say  of  Janey's  husband. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  our  friend  Waveney  take 
his  seat  in  the  Lords'  tomorrow  afternoon,  Miss 
Lea?" 

"I—Sir  Thomas?" 

The  question  startled  Sydney;  a  rare  colour  came 
into  her  face. 

"Why  not?  The  ceremony  is  picturesque,  a  bit 
of  delightful  medievalism.  It  will  be  certain  to  in- 
terest you.  I  can  easily  arrange  for  you  to  see  it  if 
you  like,"  observed  Sir  Thomas,  kindly,  from  behind 
The  Times,  and  the  level  unconsciousness  in  his  tone 
brought  reassurance  to  the  girl.  Of  course  she 
would  go. 

"I  should  be  exceedingly  glad  to  see  it,"  she  replied 
truthfully. 

.  .  .  Why  was  it  that  everything  connected 
with  the  life  of  Adrian  Romeyne  should  savor  of  un- 
reality to  her  mind — always  excepting  the  few  times 
they  had  been  together?  Why  was  he  so  distant, 
while  so  near?  She  could  not  discuss  the  feeling  that 
his  personality  in  the  world — of  which  she  caught 
these  echoes  and  glimpses — was  an  illusion.  The 
man  she  loved,  and  in  whose  eyes  she  had  read  love, 
seemed  to  have  been  created  on  that  instant — this 
other  man  had  wholly  alien  traditions,  surroundings, 
education — the  one  was  poignantly  real  and  close  to 
her — the  other  was  like  an  admired  figure  in  a  book. 
Better  close  the  book  and  put  it  away  on  the  shelf, 
rather  than  continue  to  dream  over  the  page. 

Sydney  had  been  to  Parliament  Buildings  before ; 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          271 

at  her  last  visit,  the  Lords  had  been  crowded  for  an 
important  debate.  Now,  the  Chamber  was  all  but 
empty,  throwing  into  relief  for  this  reason,  the  warm 
tone  of  the  oak,  the  gilding,  the  crimson  benches,  the 
lights,  the  embroidered  canopy  of  the  throne.  .  .  . 
A  number  of  ladies  occupied  the  galleries:  she  her- 
self shrank  into  a  sheltered  corner.  The  three  central 
figures  on  the  Woolsack  were  full  of  dignity — except 
that  the  Lord  Chancellor's  three-cornered  hat  seemed 
to  sit  awkwardly  on  his  big  wig.  .  .  .  He  was  a 
man  with  a  wooden  countenance;  but  the  tall  peer 
who  sat  at  his  side  with  a  reddish  moustache  had  a 
face  full  of  humourous  intelligence.  .  .  . 

A  picturesque  bit  of  ceremonial  enough 
the  new  peer  between  his  sponsors — Garter  King  at 
Arms  looking  like  the  most  gorgeous  knave  of  hearts 
conceivable,  the  risings  and  bowings  and  all  the  rest 
of  it.  Waveney  looked  rather  thin  and  worn;  his 
face  seemed  bloodless  against  the  massed  scarlet  of 
his  robes.  Sydney  kept  thinking  of  the  trial  scene  in 
"Alice" ;  but  it  was  plain  that  everyone  else,  including 
the  neophyte,  took  it  very  seriously.  Evidently  they 
wrapped  you  up  rather  gorgeously  when  they  laid  you 
away  on  the  back  shelf.  The  procession  filed  out  of 
the  Chamber  and  from  behind  her  back  came  the 
voices  of  two  men,, 

"Yes,  a  charmin    fella  and  all  that.     . 
Splendid  work  during  the  War.     .     .     .     She's  the 
stumbling-block,  I  hear,  otherwise  it  might  have  been 
a  Viscountcy." 

"Likely  enough  to  be  removed  before  long,  she's 
very  bad,  they  say.  .  .  . 

"Good  thing  too — if  she's  as  impossible  as  some 
of  'em.  With  the  right -marriage  he'd  make  a  real 
thing  of  it." 

"Oh,  trust  him  for  that!" 

As  she  passed  through  the  gallery  and  into  the 


272     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

large  entrance  hall  with  its  stone  floor,  there  were 
several  Members  of  Commons  standing  about  in 
groups — colleagues  of  Sir  Thomas.  .  .  .  One 
bowed  to  her  vaguely.  A  little  newspaperman  came 
up  and  shook  her  by  the  hand.  Was  that  Waveney 
himself  who  stepped  for  an  instant  into  the  hall? 
She  was  not  sure. 

The  Square  and  Whitehall  were  a  swirling  cloud  of 
blackness — that  January  blackness,  which  seems 
nothing  less  than  an  emanation  from  the  pit,  and  in 
which  all  the  horrors  of  attack  from  the  air  seemed 
to  be  intensified.  One  thought  of  the  Germans  as 
part  of  that  dreadful  night — as  rejoicing  in  it — as 
turning  the  age-long  picturesqueness  of  the  London 
dusk  into  a  sinister  shield  for  destruction.  Her  foot- 
falls sounded  in  her  own  ears  as  she  hurried  through, 
past  Storey's  Gate  to  the  Park.  Other  footfalls  came 
up  behind  her  and — Waveney,  suddenly  and  solidly 
resolved  out  of  the  fog,  fell  into  step  at  her  side. 

"So  it  was  you.    How  odd !" 

"Yes  it  was  I.  Sir  Thomas  told  me  it  was  an  in- 
teresting and  picturesque  ceremonial  which  I  must  not 
miss." 

"And  did  you  find  it  so?" 

"I  thought  your — obsequies — were  truly  glorious." 

"But  it  is  not  that!"  he  cried,  with  a  touch  of  an- 
noyance in  his  tone.  "Other  people  may  think  so,  if 
they  like — but  not  you !" 

Her  spirits  had  risen  to  the  exhilaration  of  his 
presence  and  there  was  pure  playfulness  in  her  answer. 

"Then  I  will  say  instead  that  your  new  House  is 
commodious :  in  the  best  situation  in  London :  it  might 
even  be  made  comfortable  with  modern  improve- 
ments, which  I  believe  you  could  put  into  it!  And 
certainly  the  view  from  its  windows  is  over  all  the 
kingdoms  of  the  earth." 

"But  you  think  it  is  my  final  dwelling — the  grave, 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          273 

just  the  same?"  he  questioned,  half-responsive  to  her 
mood,  and  half-serious. 

"People  say  so :  they  say  Requiescat  in  pace." 

"Let  them  wait  until  I  have  given  them  another 
word:  Resurgam!  Yes,  it  is  delightful  to  find  you 
like  this,  particularly  when  I  have  bad  news  for  you." 

"You  mean  about  Ashburnham  ?" 

"I  fear  his  plan  is  hardly  practicable  at  present. 
The  situation  in  Russia  is  exceedingly  confused  and 
his  opinion  differs  from  that  of  many  others.  Whether 
or  no  it  is  because  his  idea  involves  action,  which  they 
detest — I  find  that  the  powers  that  be  are  not  at  all 
disposed  to  take  his  view.  You  know,  I  was  not  en- 
tirely convinced  myself." 

"I  remember." 

They  were  walking  through  the  Park  toward  the 
dim,  distant  line  of  lights  and  roar  of  traffic  which 
defined  Piccadilly.  The  Mall  lay  behind  them,  a  gulf 
of  blackness,  swarming  with  the  small  red  lamps  of 
the  taxicabs,  like  insects  with  luminous  eyes.  His 
voice  was  warm  and  confidential  and  his  coat  brushed 
her  dress  as  they  moved  together.  .  .  .  Some- 
times out  of  the  darkness  he  saw  her  eyes  shine.  He 
had  not  ever  before  thought  of  her  as  young  and 
merry  as  now  when  he  saw  her  smile  after  the  playful 
words,  or  heard  the  vibrant  response  in  her  tones. 
This  youth  touched  him,  too,  and  lightened  his  spirit. 
He  talked  quickly,  easily. 

"Though  not  wholly  convinced,  yet  I  was  struck 
by  what  you  said  and  I  pushed  Ashburnham's  side 
whenever  and  wherever  possible;  first,  because  I  have 
confidence  in  your  judgment  and  then  because  I  saw 
you  wished  it." 

"You  are  very  good." 

Nothing  could  be  more  conventionally  decorous 
than  her  answer;  and  he  had  a  wild  impulse  to  put 
his  arm  about  her  shoulders  and  turn  her  face  toward 


274     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

his  to  see  if  there  was  laughter  in  her  eyes.  They 
moved  on  a  step  or  two  in  silence  and  when  he  spoke, 
his  manner  was  as  usual. 

"By  the  way,  what  do  you  hear  from  the  States? 
You  have  seen  the  news?" 

"I  hear  very  little  nowadays,  but  I  saw  about  the 
break  of  relations.  .  .  .  Ah,  if  we  had  only 
come  in  a  year  ago !"  He  answered  her,  as  English- 
men were  answering  their  American  friends  all  the 
world  over,  "But  I  understand  so  very  well  why  you 
could  not." 

The  fog  was  lightening,  had  lightened;  revealing 
each  more  clearly  to  the  other,  more  clearly  also  to 
the  passers-by.  Once  Waveney  raised  his  hat,  and 
with  the  act,  that  sense  of  their  being  alone  vanished. 
On  Piccadilly  the  traffic  was  heavy  and  they  must 
stand  for  a  long  moment,  waiting  their  chance  to 
cross;  smiling  and  talking  happily  together.  Was  it 
Destiny  that  commanded  the  one  motor  in  all  Eng- 
land to  draw  up  at  the  curb?  A  face,  pale  and  dis- 
torted, thrust  itself  from  the  window,  caught  Sydney's 
eye  and  held  it;  so  that  in  the  recognition  she  drew  a 
frightened  breath.  Where  had  she  seen  that  face? 
Where,  but  in  a  grey,  terrible  dawn,  and  when  it  was 
white,  as  the  pillow  it  lay  on  ...  only,  then, 
the  gaze  fixed  upon  her  had  been  desperate  and  plead- 
ing, which  now  was  intense  with  hate. 

She  stood  suddenly  frozen,  so  that  Waveney 
turned  and  saw.  "Steady!"  breathed  his  voice  in  her 
ear,  for  she  had  plucked  him  by  the  arm.  Someone 
in  the  motor  leaned  over  and  pulled  down  the  shade. 
He  guided  her  steps  across  the  street,  and  when  she 
could  look  at  him,  she  saw  that  he  was  biting  his  lip. 
She  asked  tremulously; 

"But, — I  thought  they  had  locked  her  up?"  and  he 
replied  unwillingly,  "So  did  I." 

Then  he  went  on  to  speak  reassuringly;  yet  always 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          275 

conscious,  exquisitely  conscious,  of  the  memory  they 
held  between  them,  and  of  her  troubled  face.  The 
memory,  the  memory  of  that  night,  did  it  stir  her 
pulses  too?  His  words  faltered  into  silence;  and 
when  Sydney  spoke,  she  was  the  calmer  of  the  two. 

"Do  you  think  she  recognized  us  both?" 

"Suppose  she  did,  what  does  it  matter?"  He  spoke 
with  an  indifference  he  was  far  from  feeling.  Noth- 
ing, as  a  matter  of  fact  could  be  more  unfortunate 
than  such  a  contingency,  it  meant  a  link  supplied  he 
had  hoped  forever  broken.  .  .  .  Who  else  was 
in  the  car,  he  wondered?  The  father?  Or  perhaps 
only  a  nurse.  But  of  this  he  said  nothing  to  his  com- 
panion. A  few  minutes  later  they  parted,  and 
Waveney  betook  himself  up  Bond  Street,  walking 
rapidly,  with  thoughts  more  disturbed  and  rebellious 
than  usual.  Surely  he  need  not  blame  himself ;  he  had 
been  kind,  even  detached;  surely,  he  had  atoned  for 
that  instant  of  passion  I  Yet  the  keen  pleasure  of  the 
talk  held  danger;  he  had  never  felt  more  aware  of 
her  mental  attraction  for  him,  of  their  real  con- 
geniality. .  .  .  He  found  himself  asking,  if  the 
door  of  release  in  his  life  ever  opened, 
whether  such  a  marriage  would  be  foolish  after  all? 
It  would  have  the  durable  foundation  of  an  intellec- 
tual comradeship  and  stimulus,  and  were  such  things 
not  worth  a  little  gossip?  What  had  the  more 
wordly-wise  union  brought  him,  that  he  should  value 
its  standards?  And  what  woman  he  knew  approached 
her,  in  exotic  charm? 

Yet,  it  was  true,  the  matter  still  shaped  itself  to  his 
mind  in  the  form  of  a  question.  .  .  .  And  then, 
there  was  Ashburnham.  .  .  .  He  would  soon  be 
returning  and  he  had  every  advantage,  for  the  door 
was  still  closed. 

The  soldier's  name  brought  with  it  a  strong  reac- 
tion, and  Waveney  sighed  irritably,  wearied  of  the 


276     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

struggle  of  these  last  months.  .  .  .  No;  it  was 
folly,  sheer  folly  to  be  thinking  of  her;  and  in  view  of 
such  chances  as  today's  encounter,  worse  than  folly  to 
keep  on  seeing  her.  She  had  done  harm  enough  to  his 
life  by  upsetting  that  spiritual  equilibrium  he  had  been 
so  proud  to  keep;  she  threatened  now  to  do  more 
harm  still.  If  the  faintest  suggestion  reached  Lord 
Beauvray  that  Adrian  had  any  personal  interest  in 
the  woman  to  whom  he  had  entrusted  their  secret 
.  .  .  it  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  He  must  reso- 
lutely avoid  her  in  the  future. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

ON  a  certain  afternoon  in  April,  Sir  Thomas  en- 
tered his  house  on  Charles  Street  with  an  unwonted 
alertness  of  step;  and  his  secretary  lifted  her  head  in 
surprise  to  hear  him  call  to  his  wife  and  daughter  in 
joyful  impatience  from  the  staircase. 

"Ada!  Janey!  It  is  all  right:  the  President  has 
asked  for  War." 

"Oh  Thomas!" 

"Yes,  yes,  he  has  indeed  and  unmistakably. 
.  .  .  I  came  home  to  tell  you  at  once.  We  have 
been  waiting — all  of  us  in  a  group — at  the  Carlton 
Club  for  the  news  to  come  through.  .  .  .  Yes, 
we  cheered  together  when  we  heard!  A  splendid 
address,  you  must  read  it  carefully." 

"But  does  he  decide  it? — I  thought — ." 

"Congress  will  vote,  of  course,  but  the  result  is  in 
no  doubt.  ...  I  must  write  at  once  to  Mid, — 
you  know,  I  suppose  what  it  means?" 

"I  hope  so;  and  I  am  deeply  thankful,"  said  his 
wife,  "because,  I  have  always  felt  that  in  case  of  a 
separate  peace  in  Russia — ." 

"There  will  not  be  a  separate  peace  in  Russia,"  said 
her  husband  impatiently,  wishing  no  cloud  on  his  hap- 
piness— "you  know  that  the  Revolutionists  have 
every  cause  to  hate  the  enemy  as  much  as  ourselves. 
.  .  .  But  this  news,  today,  means  certainty — it 
means  we  can't  lose,  though  God  knows  we've  tried 
hard  enough !" 

"I  don't  think  you  ought  to  say  that,  Dad, — with 
our  magnificent  men!"  put  in  Janey — her  soldier  hus- 

277 


278     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

band  never  far  from  her  thoughts,  and  her  father 
smiled. 

"Donald  and  his  like  were  not  in  my  mind  Janey, 
you  may  be  sure.  .  .  .  But  I  am  so  relieved — 
after  these  black  months  of  discouragement!  .  .  ;., 
They  say  conscription  will  come  there  at  once,  and 
they  have  millions  of  men  and  never  beaten  in  any 
war !  Then  you  know  how  I  have  always  hoped  for 
close  friendship  between  ourselves  and  the  States — an 
alliance  between  us  means  peace  for  the  whole 
world." 

Sir  Thomas  spoke  with  animation  and  his  eyes  were 
alight.  "Oh  .  .  .  and  by  the  way,  my  dear — 
you  had  best  stop  at  Smith  Square  this  afternoon  to 
enquire.  They  say  she  is  very  bad  and  not  at  all 
likely  to  get  well." 

"Was  Adrian  at  the  Club?" 

"No,  I  have  not  seen  him.  Some  one  else  had 
heard  that  there  was  another  relapse.  Of  course  she 
pulled  out  of  that  last  one  in  January,  and  she  may 
out  of  this.  .  .  .  The  men  at  the  Club  were  all 
saying  her  death  would  make  a  great  difference  to 
Adrian." 

"Poor  soul,"  sighed  Janey,  kindly. 

"I  think  it  is  very  remarkable  that  Adrian  has 
never  consoled  himself  elsewhere,"  observed  Lady 
Easterly,  over  her  knitting. 

"Too  busy — "  replied  her  husband  shortly,  "and  I 
don't  think  Adrian  has  ever  been  interested  in  women. 
.  .  .  But  of  course,  a  proper  marriage  would  be 
just  the  thing  to  help  him  on.  He  never  could  do  any- 
thing with  her.  .  .  .  She  always  said  sharp 
things  to  people  and  was  vulgar,  otherwise  made  his 
pathway  difficult.  Now  I  fancy,  she  is  likely  to  hang 
on  indefinitely — just  when  all  of  us  would  be  glad 
to  see  her  go." 

"You  are  very  harsh,  I  think,  Daddy." 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          279 

"My  dear  child,  why  should  I  pretend  any  interest 
in  a  vulgar  woman,  who  personally  never  lost  an  op- 
portunity to  be  disagreeable  to  your  mother  and  my- 
self? I  am  no  hypocrite,"  declared  Sir  Thomas  truth- 
fully;  and  then  turning  happily  back  to  the  great  event 
of  the  day — "you  will  tell  Hughie  when  he  comes  in, 
Ada?  He  will  be  anxious  to  hear." 

"There  is  one  person  we  know  who  will  be  de- 
lighted," said  Janey,  as  her  father  moved  to  the 
drawing-room  door — "and  that  is  Miss  Lea.  She 
will  be  pleased." 

"I  am  going  to  tell  her  now — "  said  Sir  Thomas, 
and  hastened  downstairs. 

The  news  did  make  Sydney  happy;  evxerything 
about  that  day  made  her  happy.  She  liked  Sir 
Thomas's  half-paternal,  half-formal  words  of  con- 
gratulation. "And  I  want  you  to  believe  Miss  Lea, 
how  much  we  appreciate  the  fact  that  you  were  our 
first  Ally!"  She  liked  the  bunch  of  flowers,  which 
Hugh,  dragging  weakly  along  on  his  crutches,  laid  on 
her  desk  in  silent  apology  for  his  past  sulkiness.  She 
liked  the  greeting  which  Smith  brought  solemnly  up 
from  the  world  below  stairs: 

"So  being  as  now  the  States  is  one  of  us,  as  I  may 
say — the  'ole  'ousehold  wishes  you  to  know  how  glad 
they  was !" 

She  liked  the  embrace  in  which  Miss  Violand  en- 
folded her  that  evening,  when  she  returned  home,  and 
her  tremulous  "Oh  Sydney,  my  dear — your  wonderful 
President!  But  then,  I  always  said  he  would."  She 
even  liked  Giddy's  smiling  remark  that  "It  stands  to 
reason  the  Colonies  would  never  go  back  on  the  Em- 
pire !"  even  though  it  brought  to  her  a  fresh  realiza- 
tion of  the  fact  that  Giddy — with  many  thousands  of 
her  country  folk — had  forgotten  the  little  unpleasant- 
ness of  1776. 

Life  has  so  many  unfinished  pages,  one  strained 


28o     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

hard  to  read  to  the  end  before  Destiny  turned  them 
with  an  inevitable  finger.  Sydney  again  felt  that  the 
brief  flowering  of  individual  experience  for  her  was 
once  more  blotted  out  and  lost  in  the  collective  experi- 
ence. Days  rushed  on;  big  with  possibility,  and 
events  vital  to  her  brushed  by  and  were  gone,  as  it 
were,  over  the  edge  of  the  cataract.  The  Russian 
Revolution  had  brought  hope  to  many  people, 
though  not  personally  to  her — after  her  reading  of 
Ashburnham's  letter.  As  the  situation  there  grew 
more  and  more  chaotic,  she  had  become  anxious,  very 
anxious,  about  her  friend's  safety.  One  letter  had 
reached  her  from  him  since  the  upheaval  in  March 
and  it  bore  a  closer,  a  more  personal  note  than  his 
letters  hitherto. 

.  .  .  "I  always  think  of  you,"  Ashburnham 
wrote — "as  a  type  of  your  country  .  .  .  first 
the  watcher,  neutral,  puzzled — as  you  must  have 
been  back  there  in  Geneva — then  led  by  suffering  and 
your  sympathy — to  throw  yourself  into  the  task  to 
help.  And  then,  roused  to  all  your  energy — riding 
forth,  bow  in  hand  'conquering  and  to  conquer!' 
That,  if  I  read  America  aright,  is  what  she  is  going 
to  do — just  as  it  is  what  in  your  own  way,  you  have 
been  doing." 

He  was  wonderful — Ashburnham — in  the  way  he 
understood.  But  the  page  of  life  on  which  his  name 
was  written  was  succeeded  by  long  blanks — in  which 
only  her  imagination  could  follow  him  through  that 
welter  of  anarchy  and  blood. 

There  were  other  pages  .  .  .  but  the  name 
she  loved  best  to  read  had  not  made  its  appearance 
thereon  for  a  long  time.  Lady  Waveney  was  desper- 
ately ill,  was  dying,  was  better,  relapsed,  had  all  but 
died,  had  rallied  again.  .  .  .  Sydney  could  not 
help  hearing  this  from  the  family  talk  at  Charles 
Street,  hearing  also  the  unsympathetic  and  impatient 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END         281 

comments  with  which  such  news  would  be  accom- 
panied. She  dreaded  the  subject,  dreading  that  tu- 
mult of  the  spirit  which  lay  in  recalling  their  happy 
walk  together  months  ago — the  blackness  of  fog  pro- 
tecting them.  Had  that  poor  soul  whom  they  all 
wished  dead — had  she  suffered  from  the  breach  with 
her  husband — was  she  tasting  the  bitterness  of  going 
out  of  life  unloved?  There  were  moods  when  Syd- 
ney's pity  for  her  was  intense,  when  she  longed  to 
hear  better  hopes — because  there  came  to  her  own 
soul  flashes  of  clear  foresight — moods  in  which  she 
realized  that  there  might  be  a  far  worse  wretchedness 
of  separation  in  store  than  that  caused  by  the  wife's 
existence.  What  would  that  be  in  comparison  to  the 
bitterness  which  might  come  from  his  deliberately 
not  seeking  her  when  he  was  free  to  do  so? 

These  personal  pages  were  so  blurred,  so  hurried 
— to  be  skimmed  hastily,  because  they  appeared  to 
lack  reality  in  these  great  days.  One's  consciousness 
paused  only  at  certain  episodes  in  which  it  was  linked 
with  the  rending  forces  at  loose  in  the  world. 

The  day  came — a  hot,  summer  day,  when  she 
stood  at  a  window,  to  see  all  about  her — hanging 
alike  from  Parliament  Buildings,  and  from  the  but- 
ton hole  of  a  street  urchin — her  own  flag.  Below 
her  surged  an  excited  crowd,  which  agitated  special 
constables  strove  to  keep  to  the  confines  of  the  side- 
walk. There  rose  a  noise  and  clamor  of  cries  and 
voices — she  herself  was  sunk  in  a  silence  which  came 
of  hope  fulfilled. 

From  far  down  the  street  came  a  deep  growl  of 
cheering — English  cheering,  so  different  from  the 
shrill  yelp  of  the  American  or  French.  The  soldiers, 
her  countrymen,  that  earnest  of  the  power  to  come, 
must  have  started  on  their  way.  She  clasped  her 
hands  tight  together.  Strange  how  at  this  instant 
one  thought  of  little  things !  They  floated  up  to  the 


282     THE  HOUSE  ON  CHARLES  STREET 

surface  of  her  imagination  like  bubbles  and  vanished. 
.  .  Memories  of  the  past  three  years — the 
journey  from  Geneva — Paris — the  hospital  on  Great 
Stanhope  Street — Sister  Lucy's  anxiety  about  the 
iodine  .  .  .  the  Zeppelin  raid  and  Ashburnham 
guiding  her  by  the  elbow  through  Regent  Street — 
the  long  motor  ride  into  the  country — that  horrible, 
moaning  figure  on  the  bed — and  the  man  with  the 
uneasy  smile  on  his  lips  and  murder  in  his  eyes — 
Elizabeth  in  uniform  standing  on  the  doorstep.  Per- 
sistently, too,  there  recurred  to  her  the  picture  of  the 
frightened  pigeon  refusing  to  take  flight  with  the 
others  and  the  grinning  kindly  face  of  the  boy  who 
stroked  it. 

The  growling  cheers  came  nearer  and  nearer.  .  .  . 
They  meant  the  future,  and  that  was  all  today  that 
mattered.  Strange  that  on  this  very  morning  a  cable 
had  reached  her  from  Ashburnham  in  Stockholm. 
He  was  on  his  way  home — and  she  could  look  for- 
ward to  his  coming  with  pure  happiness — with  more 
happiness,  taking  it  all  in  all,  than  the  note  from 
Waveney,  giving  her  the  same  news  and  adding  in 
postcript,  hastily,  as  one  who  writes  against  his  will, 
that  he  wished  to  see  her  .  .  .  ?  How? 
Where?  Why? — She  read  these  words  as  in  a  flash, 
and  then  quickly  folded  the  note  away — trying  not  to 
think  of  it — trying  to  push  its  contents  out  of  mind. 
Odd  that  one  felt  these  things  at  all  in  so  vital  a 
moment  of  emotion.  .  .  . 

They  were  coming  now.  They  were  coming  up 
the  street — those  tall,  straight  serious  men,  her  coun- 
trymen. Her  heart  went  out  to  them — life  lost  its 
individual  confines  at  the  sight,  to  become  merged 
in  that  deeper  and  obscurer  current  whose  shifting 
has  well-nigh  shaken  down  civilization.  They  were 
America — she  was  America.  The  idea  which  moved 
her,  moved  them ;  the  force  that  was  their  birthright, 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END          283 

was  hers  also.  Indifferent  as  her  countrymen  might 
be  by  nature,  blind,  or  narrow,  yet  one  knew  them 
honestly  striving  toward  an  ideal  ill-defined,  and  hav- 
ing once  tested  and  rejected  it  setting  up  another  with- 
out loss  of  time,  turning  to  assume  without  by- 
thought  gigantic  tasks.  Today  the  world  beheld 
them  roused  in  unimaginable  strength,  setting  forth 
across  the  earth  in  their  millions,  conquering  and  to 
conquer, — a  pilgrimage  of  wrath  and  hope  such  as  no 
Nation  had  ever  undertaken  before.  .  . 

Would  they  be  in  time — those  marching  men? 
they  must — they  must  be  in  time ! 

She  leaned  out  of  the  window  and  cheered  and 
cheered. 


THE  END 


FfZThi 


pun 

A    000  767  656    2 


